DEADHAM  HARD 

LUCAS  MALET 


/ 


DEADHAM  HARD 


BY  THE  SAME   AUTHOR 

COLONEL  ENDERBY'S  WIFE 

A  COUNSEL  OF  PERFECTION 

THE  WAGES  OF  SIN 

THE  CARISSIMA 

THE  QATELESS  BARRIER 

THE  HISTORY  OP  SIR  RICHARD  CALMADT 


DEADHAM  HARD 

A  Romance 


BY 

LUCAS   MALET 

(MARY  ST.  LBGEB  HARRISON) 

Author  of  "Sir  Richard  Calmady," 
"The  Wages  of  Sin,"  etc. 


"  Youth  has  no  boundaries,  age  has  the  grave." 
— BULGARIAN  PROVERB 


NEW  YORK 

DODD,  MEAD  AND   COMPANY 
1919 


COPYRIGHT.  1919,  BY 
DODD,  MEAD  AND  COMPANY,  Inc. 


TO  MY  DEAR  FRIEND  ACROSS  THE  OCEAN 
C.    E.    O. 


LONDON  HU 


2229008 


CONTENTS 

BOOK  I 
THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  TAMARISKS 

CHAPTER  PAflB 

I.  TELLING  HOW,  UNDER  STRESS  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES,  A  HU- 
MANIST TURNED  HERMIT    ....*'...  3 
II.   ENTER  A  YOUNG  SCHOLAR  AND  GENTLEMAN  OF  A  HAPPY 

DISPOSITION  AND  GOOD  PROSPECTS 12 

III.  THE  DOUBTFULLY  HARMONIOUS  PARTS  OF  A  WHOLE      .  19 

IV.  WATCHERS  THROUGH  THE  SMALL  HOURS    ....  26 
V.   BETWEEN  RIVER  AND  SEA 35 

VI.   IN  WHICH  THE  PAST  LAYS  AN  OMINOUS  HAND  ON  THE 

PRESENT 45 

VII.   A  CRITIC  IN  CORDUROY 55 

BOOK  11 
THE  HARD  SCHOOL  OF  THINGS  AS  THEY  ARE 

I.  IN   MAIDEN   MEDITATION       .       .       .       .       .       .       .67 

II.  WHICH  CANTERS  ROUND  A  PARISH  PUMP  ....       81 

III.  A  SAMPLING  OF  FREEDOM 94 

IV.  Our  ON  THE  BAR 106 

V.  WHEREIN  DAMARIS  MAKES  SOME  ACQUAINTANCE  WITH 

THE  HIDDEN  WAYS  OF  MEN 120 

VI.   RECOUNTING  AN  ASTONISHING  DEPOSITION       ..      .       .126 
VII.  A  SOUL  AT  WAR  WITH  FACT      .-      ,      ,       .      .      .     134 
VIII.   TELLING  HOW  Two  PERSONS,  OF  VERY  DIFFERENT  MORAL 
CALIBRE,  WERE  COMPELLED  TO  WEAR  THE  FLOWER  or 
HUMILIATION  IN  THEIR  RESPECTIVE  BUTTONHOLES     .     140 
IX.   AN  EXPERIMENT  IN  BRIDGE-BUILDZNQ  OF  WHICH  TIME 

ALONE  CAN  Fix  THE  VALUES 150 

X.  TELLING  HOW  Miss  FELICIA  VKBTTY  UNSUCCESSFULLY 

ATTEMPTED  A  RESCUE 164 

XI.   IN   WHICH   DAMARIS   RECEIVES   INFORMATION   or  THE 
LOST    SHOES   AND   STOCKINGS — ASSUMPTION   OF   THE 

GOD-HEAD 175 

XII.   CONCERNING  A  SERMON  WHICH  NEVER  WAS  PBEAOHED 

AND  OTHER  MATTERS  OF  LOCAL  INTEREST  193 


CONTENTS 


BOOK  III 
THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  FOREST 

CHAPTER  PAGB 

I.   AN  EPISODE  IN  THE  EMOTIONAL  EXPERIENCE  OF  THE  MAN 

WITH  THE  BLUE  EYES 206 

II.   TELLING  HOW  DAMARIS  RENEWED  HEE  ACQUAINTANCE 

WITH  THE  BELOVED  LADY  OF  HER  INFANCY  .       .       .213 

III.  WHICH    CONCERNS    ITSELF,    INCIDENTALLY,    WITH   THE 

GBIEF  OF  A  VICTIM  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE  AND  THE  RE- 
CEPTION OF  A  BELATED  CHRISTMAS  GREETING      .       .     232 

IV.  BLOWING  ONE'S  OWN  TRUMPET  PRACTISED  AS  A  FINE 

ART          .       .       . 244 

V.   IN  WHICH  HENRIETTA  PULLS  THE  STRINGS       .       .       .261 
VI.   CARNIVAL — AND  AFTER   .       .       .       .       .       .  •     .       .     268 

VII.  TELLING  HOW  DAMABIS  DISCOVERED  THE  TRUE  NATURE 
OF  A  CERTAIN  SECRET  TO  THE  DEAR  MAN  WITH  THE 
BLUE  EYES  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .283 

VIII.   Frous  ACHATES 298 

IX.   WHICH  FEATURES  VARIOUS  PERSONS  WITH  WHOM  THE 

READER  Is  ALREADY  ACQUAINTED 306 

X.   WHICH  IT  Is  TO  BE  FEARED  SMELLS  SOMEWHAT  POWER- 
FULLY OF  BILGE  WATER 316 

XI.   WHEREIN  DAMABIS   MEETS   HERSELF  UNDER   A  NOVEL 

ASPECT 326 

XII.  CONCERNING  ITSELF  WITH  A  GATHERING  UP  OF  FRAG- 
MENTS   336 

XIII.    WHICH  RECOUNTS  A  TAKING  OF  SANCTUARY    .  354 


I.   WHICH  CABBIES  OVER  A  TALE  OF  YEARS,  AND  CARRIES  ON  369 
II.   RECALLING,  IN   SOME  PARTICULARS,  THE  EASIEST  RE- 
CORDED THEFT  IN  HUMAN  HISTORY  .       .       .       .       .381 

III.  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 394 

IV.  WHEREIN  Miss  FELICIA  VERITY  CONCLUSIVELY  SHOWS 

WHAT  SPIRIT  SHE  Is  OF     . 409 

V.   DEALING  WITH  EMBLEMS,  OMENS  AND  DEMONSTRATIONS  420 
VI.   SHOWING  HOW  SIR  CHARLES  VEBITY  WAS  JUSTIFIED  OF 

His    LABOURS        .       . 430 

VII.   TELLING  HOW  CHARLES  VEBITY  LOOKED  ON  THE  MOTHEB 

OF  His  SON   .       ....       .       .       .       .       .       .  454 

CHAPTER  THE  EIGHTH  WHICH  Is  ALSO  CHAPTER  THE  LAST  479 


BOOK  I 
THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  TAMARISKS 


DEADHAM  HARD 


CHAPTER  I 

TELLING  HOW,   UNDER  STRESS  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE, 
A   HUMANIST    TURNED    HERMIT 

A  PECULIAR   magic   resides   in   running   water,    as 
every  student  of  earth-lore  knows.     There  is  high 
magic,  too,  in  the  marriage  of  rivers,  so  that  the  spot 
where  two  mingle  their  streams  is  sacred,  endowed  with 
strange  properties  of  evocation  and  of  purification.    Such 
spots  go  to  the  making  of  history  and  ruling  of  individual 
lives ;  but  whether  their  influence  is  not  more  often  malign 
than  beneficent  may  be,  perhaps,  open  to  doubt. 

Certain  it  is,  however,  that  no  doubts  of  this  description 
troubled  the  mind  of  Thomas  Clarkson  Verity,  when,  in  the 
closing  decade  of  the  eighteenth  century,  he  purchased  the 
house  at  Deadham  Hard,  known  as  Tandy's  Castle,  over- 
looking the  deep  and  comparatively  narrow  channel  by 
which  the  Rivers  Arne  and  Wilner,  after  crossing  the  tide- 
flats  and  salt-marsh  of  Marychureh  Haven,  make  their 
swift  united  exit  into  Marychureh  Bay.  Neither  was  he 
troubled  by  the  fact  that  Tandy's  Castle — or  more  briefly 
and  familiarly  Tandy's — for  all  its  commonplace  outward 
decency  of  aspect  did  not  enjoy  an  unblemished  moral  or 
social  reputation.  The  house — a  whitewashed,  featureless 
erection — was  planted  at  right  angles  to  the  deep  sandy 
lane  leading  up  from  the  shore,  through  the  scattered 
village  of  Deadham,  to  the  three-mile  distant  market  town 
of  Marychureh. 

Standing  on  a  piece  of  rough  land — bare,  save  for  a  few 
stunted  Weymouth  pines,  and  a  fringe  of  tamarisk  along 

3 


4  DEADHAM  HARD 

the  broken  sea-wall — Tandy's,  at  the  date  in  question, 
boasted  a  couple  of  bowed  sash-windows  on  either  side  the 
front  and  back  doors;  and  a  range  of  five  other  windows 
set  flat  in  the  wall  on  the  first  floor.  There  was  no  second 
storey.  The  slate  roofs  were  mean,  low-pitched,  without 
any  grace  of  overshadowing  eaves.  At  either  end,  a  tall 
chimney-stack  rose  like  the  long  ears  of  some  startled, 
vacant-faced  small  animal.  Behind  the  house,  a  thick 
plantation  of  beech  and  sycamore  served  to  make  its  square 
blank  whiteness  visible  for  a  quite  considerable  distance 
out  to  sea.  Built  upon  the  site  of  some  older  and  larger 
structure,  it  was  blessed — or  otherwise — with  a  system 
of  vaults  and  cellars  wholly  disproportionate  to  its  existing 
size.  One  of  these,  by  means  of  a  roughly  ceiled  and 
flagged  passage,  gave  access  to  a  heavy  door  in  the  sea-wall 
opening  directly  on  to  the  river  foreshore. 

Htence  the  unsavoury  reputation  of  the  place.  For  not 
only  did  it  supply  a  convenient  receiving  house  for 
smuggled  goods,  but  a  convenient  rendezvous  for  the  more 
lawless  characters  of  the  neighbourhood — a  back-of-beyond 
and  No  Man's  Land  where  the  devil  could,  with  impunity, 
have  things  very  much  his  own  way.  In  the  intervals  of 
more  serious  business,  the  vaults  and  cellars  of  Tandy's 
frequently  resounded  to  the  agonies  and  brutal  hilarities 
of  cock-fights,  dog-fights,  and  other  repulsive  sports  and 
pastimes  common  to  the  English — both  gentle  and  simple 
— of  that  virile  but  singularly  gross  and  callous  age. 
Nevertheless  to  Thomas  Clarkson  Verity,  man  of  peace  and 
of  ideas,  Tandy's  represented — and  continued  to  represent 
through  over  half  a  century — rescue,  security,  an  awaken- 
ing in  something  little  short  of  paradise  from  a  long- 
drawn  nightmare  of  hell.  He  paid  an  extortionate  price 
for  the  property  at  the  outset,  and  spent  a  small  fortune 
on  the  enlargement  of  the  house  and  improvement  of  the 
grounds,  yet  never  regretted  his  bargain. 

For,  in  good  truth,  when,  in  the  spring  of  1794,  the  soft, 
nimble,  round-bodied,  very  polite,  learned  and  loquacious 
little  gentleman  first  set  eyes  upon  its  mean  roofs,  prick 
ears  and  vacant  whitewashed  countenance,  he  had  been 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  TAMARISKS  5 

horribly  shocked,  horribly  scared — for  all  the  inherited 
valour  of  his  good  breeding — and,  above  all,  most  horribly 
disappointed.  History  had  played  very  dirty  pranks  with 
him,  which  he  found  it  impossible  as  yet  to  forgive. 

Five  years  earlier,  fired,  like  many  another  generous 
spirit,  by  extravagant  hope  of  the  coming  regeneration  of 
mankind,  he  hurried  off  to  Paris  after  the  opening  of  the 
National  Assembly  and  fall  of  the  Bastille.  With  the 
overture  to  the  millennium  in  full  blast,  must  he  not  be 
there  to  hear  and  see?  Associating  himself  with  the 
Girondist  party  he  assisted,  busily  enthusiastic,  at  the 
march  of  tremendous  events,  until  the  evil  hour  in  which 
friend  began  to  denounce  friend,  and  heads,  quite  other 
than  aristocratic — those  of  men  and  women  but  yesterday 
the  idols  and  chosen  leaders  of  the  people — went  daily 
to  the  filling  of  la  veuve  Guillotine's  unspeakable  market- 
basket.  The  spectacle  proved  too  upsetting  both  to  Mr. 
Verity's  amiable  mind  and  rather  queasy  stomach.  Faith 
failed;  while  even  the  millennium  seemed  hardly  worth 
purchasing  at  so  detestable  a  cost.  He  stood  altogether  too 
close  to  the  terrible  drama,  in  its  later  stages,  to  distinguish 
the  true  import  or  progression  of  it.  Too  close  to  under- 
stand that,  however  blood-stained  its  cradle,  the  goodly 
child  Democracy  was  veritably,  here  and  now,  in  the  act  of 
being  born  among  men.  Rather  did  he  question  whether 
his  own  fat  little  neck  was  not  in  lively  danger  of  being 
severed;  and  his  own  head— «o  full  of  ingenious  thoughts 
and  lively  curiosity — of  being  sent  flying  to  join  those  of 
Brissot  and  Verginaud,  of  wayward  explosive  Camille 
and  sweet  Lucile  Desmoulins,  in  that  same  unspeakable 
basket. 

And  to  what  end?  For  could  he  suppose  the  human  race 
would  be  nearer,  by  the  veriest  fraction  of  a  millimetre, 
to  universal  liberty,  equality,  and  prosperity,  through  his 
insignificant  death?  Modesty,  and  a  natural  instinct  of 
self -preservation  alike  answered,  "  never  a  jot."  Where- 
upon with  pertinacious,  if  furtive,  activity  he  sought  means 
of  escape.  And,  at  length,  after  months  of  hiding  and 
anxious  flitting,  found  them  in  the  shape  of  a  doubtfully 


6  DEADHAM  HARD 

seaworthy,  and  undoubtedly  filthy,  fishing-smack  bound 
from  Le  Havre  to  whatever  port  it  could  make  on  the 
English  south  coast.  The  two  days'  voyage  was  rough,  the 
accommodation  and  company  to  match.  Mr.  Verity  spent 
a  disgusting  and  disgusted  forty-eight  hours,  to  be  eventu- 
ally put  ashore,  a  woefully  bedraggled  and  depleted  figure, 
in  the  primrose,  carmine,  and  dove-grey  of  a  tender  April 
morning  on  the  wet  sand  just  below  the  sea-v/all  of  Tandy's 
Castle. 

Never  was  Briton  more  thankful  to  salute  his  native 
land,  or  feel  the  solid  earth  of  it  under  his  weary  and  very 
shaky  feet.  He,  an  epicure,  ate  such  coarse  food,  washed 
down  by  such  coarse  ale,  as  Tandy's  could  offer  with 
smiling  relish.  Later,  mounted  on  a  forest  pony — an  ill- 
favoured  animal  with  a  wall-eye,  pink  muzzle,  bristly 
upper  and  hanging  lower  lip,  more  accustomed  to  carry 
a  keg  of  smuggled  spirits  strapped  beneath  its  belly  than 
a  cosmopolitan  savant  and  social  reformer  on  its  back — 
he  rode  the  three  miles  to  Marychurch,  proposing  there 
to  take  the  coach  to  Southampton  and,  after  a  measure  of 
rest  and  refitting,  a  post-chaise  to  Canton  Magna,  his  elder 
brother's  fine  place  lying  in  a  fold  of  the  chalk  hills  which 
face  the  Sussex  border. 

The  pony  moved  slowly  and  sullenly;  but  its  rider  felt 
no  impatience.  His  humour  was  of  the  kindliest.  His 
heart,  indeed,  came  near  singing  for  joy,  simply,  spon- 
taneously, even  as  the  larks  sang,  climbing  up  and  upward 
from  salt  marsh  and  meadow,  on  either  side  the  rutted 
road,  into  the  limpid  purity  of  the  spring  sky.  A  light 
wind  flapped  the  travel-stained,  high-collared  blue  cloth 
cloak  which  he  wore;  and  brought  him  both  the  haunting 
fcetid-sweet  reek  of  the  mud  flats — the  tide  being  low — 
and  the  invigorating  tang  of  the  forest  and  moorland, 
uprolling  there  ahead,  in  purple  and  umber  to  the  pale 
northern  horizon.  Against  that  sombre  background,  fair 
and  stately  in  the  tender  sunlight  as  a  church  of  vision 
or  dream,  Marychurch  Abbey  rose  above  the  roofs  and 
chimneys  of  the  little  town. 

During  the  latter  half  of  the  eighteenth  century,  not 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  TAMARISKS  7 

only  were  religious  systems  very  much  at  a  discount  among 
persons  of  intelligence,  but  the  Deity  himself  was  relegated 
to  the  position  of  an  exploded  idea,  becoming  an  object  of 
vituperation,  witty  or  obscene  according  to  the  humour  of 
the  individual  critic.  As  one  of  the  illuminated,  Mr. 
Verity  did  not  escape  the  prevailing  infection,  although 
an  inborn  amenity  of  disposition  saved  him  from  atheism 
in  its  more  blatantly  offensive  forms.  The  existence  of  the 
Supreme  Being  might  be,  (probably  was)  so  he  feared, 
but  "  a  fond  thing  vainly  imagined."  Yet  such  is  the 
constitution  of  the  human  mind  that  age  confers  a  certain 
prestige  and  authority  even  upon  phantoms  and  suspected 
frauds.  Hence  it  followed  that  Mr.  Verity,  in  the  pleni- 
tude of  his  courtesy,  had  continued  to  take  off  his  hat — 
secretly  and  subjectively  at  all  events — to  this  venerable 
theological  delusion,  so  dear  through  unnumbered  cen- 
turies to  the  aching  heart  and  troubled  conscience  of 
humanity. 

But  in  the  present  glad  hour  of  restored  security — his 
head  no  longer  in  danger  of  plopping,  hideously  bodiless, 
into  la>  veuve's  basket,  his  inner-man,  moreover,  so  recently 
and  rackingly  evacuated  by  that  abominable  Channel 
passage,  now  comfortably  relined  with  Tandy's  meat  and 
drink — he  went  further  in  the  way  of  acknowledgment. 
A  glow  of  very  vital  gratitude  swept  over  him,  so  that 
looking  at  the  majestic  church — secular  witness  to  the 
soul's  faith  in  and  need  of  Almighty  God's  protective 
mercy  and  goodness — he  took  off  his  hat,  no  longer  meta- 
phorically but  actually,  and  bowed  himself  together  over 
the  pommel  of  the  saddle  with  an  irresistible  movement  of 
thanksgiving  and  of  praise. 

Recovering  himself  after  a  minute  or  so — "  Almost 
thou  persuadest  me  to  be  a  Christian,"  he  said  aloud, 
shaking  his  head  remonstrantly  at  the  distant  church,  while 
tears  started  to  his  busy,  politely  inquisitive  eyes. 

Then,  striving  by  speech  to  bring  his  spirits  to  their 
accustomed  playfulness  and  poise,  he  soliloquized  thus, 
still  aloud: 

"  For,  to  be  candid,  what  convincing  argument  can. 


8  DEADHAM  HARD 

I  advance,  in  the  light  of  recent  experience,  to  prove  that 
Rousseau,  my  friends  the  Encyclopaedists,  or  even  the  great 
M.  de  Voltaire,  were  really  wiser  in  their  generation,  truer 
lovers  of  the  people  and  safer  guides,  than  St.  Benedict — 
of  blessed  memory,  since  patron  of  learning  and  incidentally 
saviour  of  classic  literature — whose  pious  sons  raised  this 
most  delectable  edifice  to  God's  glory  seven  hundred  years 
ago? — The  tower  is  considerably  later  than  the  transepts 
and  the  nave — fifteenth  century  I  take  it. — Upon  my  soul, 
I  am  half  tempted  to  renounce  my  allegiance  and  to  doubt 
whether  our  modern  standards  of  civilization  surpass,  in 
the  intelligent  application  of  means  to  ends,  those  of  these 
mediaeval  cenobites,  and  whether  we  are  saner  philan- 
thropists, deeper  philosophers,  more  genial  humanists  than 
they!  " 

But  here  his  discourse  suffered  mortifying  interruption. 
He  became  aware  the  pony  stood  stock-still  in  the  middle 
of  the  road;  and,  turning  its  head,  so  that  he  beheld  its 
pink  muzzle,  bristly  upper  and  hanging  lower  lip  in  dis- 
agreeable profile,  regarded  him  with  malevolent  contempt 
out  of  its  one  sound  eye,  as  who  should  say : 

"  What's  the  silly  fellow  trumpeting  like  this  about? 
Doesn't  the  veriest  noodle  contrive  to  keep  a  quiet  tongue 
in  his  head  out  on  the  highway?  " 

Sensible  of  a  snub,  Mr.  Verity  jerked  at  the  reins  and 
clapped  his  heels  into  the  creature's  sides,  as  smartly  as 
fatigue  and  native  civility  permitted,  sending  it  forward 
at  a  jog-trot.  Nevertheless  his  soliloquy — a  silent  one  now 
— continued,  and  that  with  notable  consequences  to  others 
besides  himself. 

For  his  thought  still  dallied  with  the  subject  of  the 
monastic  life,  as  lived  by  those  same  pious  Benedictines 
here  in  England  long  ago.  Its  reasoned  rejection  of 
mundane  agitations,  its  calm,  its  leisure,  its  profound  and 
ardent  scholarship  were  vastly  to  his  taste. — A  man  touch- 
ing middle-age  might  do  worse,  surely,  than  spend  his  days 
between  worship  and  learning,  thus? — He  saw,  and  ap- 
proved, its  social  office  in  offering  sanctuary  to  the  fugi- 
tive, alms  to  the  poor,  teaching  to  the  ignorant,  consolation 


a 

to  the  sick  and  safe  passage  heavenward  to  the  dying. 
Saw,  not  without  sympathy,  its  more  jovial  moments — its 
good  fellowship,  shrewd  and  witty  conversation,  well  salted 
stories — whereat  a  man  laughs  slyly  in  his  sleeve — its 
good  cheer,  too,  with  feasts  on  holy-days  and  high-days, 
rich  and  succulent. — And  in  this  last  connection,  as  he 
reflected,  much  was  to  be  said  for  the  geographical  position 
of  Marychurch ;  since  if  river  mists  and  white  chillness  of 
sea  fog,  drifting  in  from  the  Channel,  were  to  hand,  so, 
also,  in  their  season,  were  fresh  run  salmon,  snipe,  wood- 
cock, flocks  of  wild  duck,  of  plover  and  other  savoury  fowl. 

For  in  this  thankfulness  of  awakening  from  the  hellish 
nightmare  of  the  Terror,  Mr.  Verity's  facile  imagination 
tended  to  run  to  another  extreme.  With  all  the  seriousness 
of  which  he  was  capable  he  canvassed  the  notion  of  a 
definite  retirement  from  the  world.  Public  movements, 
political  and  social  experiments  ceased  to  attract  him.  His 
appetite  for  helping  to  make  the  wheels  of  history  go 
round  had  been  satisfied  to  the  point  of  nausea.  All  he 
desired  was  tranquillity  and  repose.  He  was  free  of 
domestic  obligations  and  close  familj7  ties.  He  proposed  to 
remain  so — philosophy  his  mistress,  science  his  hand- 
maid, literature  his  pastime,  books  (remembering  the 
bitter  sorrows  of  the  tumbril  and  scaffold  in  Paris)  in 
future,  his  closest  friends. 

But,  unfortunately,  though  the  great  church  in  all  its 
calm  grave  beauty  still  held  the  heart  the  fair  landscape, 
the  monastery,  which  might  have  sheltered  his  renuncia- 
tion, had  been  put  to  secular  uses  or  fallen  into  ruin  long 
years  ago.  If  he  proposed  to  retire  from  the  world,  he 
must  himself  provide  suitable  environment.  Marychurch 
Abbey,  at  the  end  of  the  eighteenth  century,  had  very 
certainly  nothing  to  offer  him  under  that  head. 

And  then,  with  a  swiftness  of  conception  and  decision 
possible  only  to  mercurial-minded  persons,  his  thought 
darted  back  to  Tandy's,  that  unkempt,  morally  malo- 
dorous back-of -beyond  and  No  Man's  Land.  Its  vacant 
whitewashed  countenance  and  long-eared  chimney-stacks 
had  welcomed  him,  if  roughly  and  grudgingly,  to  England 


10  DEADHAM  HARD 

and  to  peace.  Was  he  not  in  some  sort  thereby  in  debt  to 
Tandy's  bound  by  gratitude  to  the  place?  Should  he  not 
buy  it — his  private  fortune  being  considerable — and  there 
plant  his  hermitage?  Should  he  not  renovate  and  trans- 
form it,  redeeming  it  from  questionable  uses,  by  transport- 
ing thither,  not  himself  only  but  his  fine  library,  his  famous 
herbarium,  his  cabinets  of  crystals,  of  coins,  and  of  shells? 
The  idea  captivated  him.  He  was  weary  of  destruction, 
having  seen  it  in  full  operation  and  practised  on  the 
gigantic  scale.  Henceforth  he  would  devote  all  the  energy 
he  possessed  to  construction — on  however  modest  and 
private  a  one — to  a  building  up,  as  personal  protest  against 
much  lately  witnessed  wanton  and  chaotic  pulling-down. 

In  prosecution  of  which  purpose,  hopeful  once  more 
and,  elate,  bobbing  merrily  cork-like  upon  the  surface  of 
surrounding  circumstance — although  lamentably  deficient, 
for  the  moment,  in  raiment  befitting  his  position  and  his 
purse — Mr.  Verity  spent  two  days  at  the  Stag's  Head, 
in  Marychurch  High  Street.  He  made  enquiries  of  all 
and  sundry  regarding  the  coveted  property;  and  learned, 
after  much  busy  investigation  that  the  village,  and  indeed 
the  whole  Hundred  of  Deadham,  formed  an  outlying  and 
somewhat  neglected  portion  of  his  acquaintance,  Lord 
Bulparc's  Hampshire  estate. 

Here  was  solid  information  to  go  upon.  Greatly  en- 
couraged, he  took  the  coach  to  Southampton,  and  thence  up 
to  town;  where  he  interviewed  first  Lord  Bulparc's 
lawyers  and  then  that  high-coloured,  free-living  nobleman 
himself. 

"  Gad,  sir,"  the  latter  assured  him,  "  you're  heartily 
welcome  to  the  damn  little  hole,  as  far  as  I'm  concerned, 
if  you  have  the  bad  taste  to  fancy  it.  I  suppose  I  ought 
to  speak  to  my  son  Oxley  about  this  just  as  a  matter  of 
form.  Not  that  I  apprehend  Oxley  will  raise  any  diffi- 
culties as  to  entail — you  need  not  fear  that.  We  shall  let 
you  off  easy  enough — only  too  happy  to  oblige  you.  But 
I  warn  you,  Verity,  you  may  drop  money  buying  the 
present  tenant  out.  If  half  my  agent  tells  me  is  true,  the 
fellow  must  be  a  most  confounded  blackguard,  up  to  the 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  TAMARISKS          11 

eyes  in  all  manner  of  ungodly  traffic.  By  rights  we  ought 
to  have  kicked  him  out  years  ago.  But,"  his  lordship 
chuckled — "  I  scruple  to  be  hard  on  any  man.  We're 
none  of  us  perfect,  live  and  let  live,  you  know.  Only 
my  dear  fellow,  I  'm  bound  to  put  you  on  your  guard ;  for 
he'll  stick  to  the  place  like  a  leech  and  blood-suck  you 
like  a  leech  too,  as  long  as  there's  a  chance  of  getting  an 
extra  guinea  out  of  you  by  fair  means  or  foul." 

To  which  process  of  blood-sucking  Mr.  Verity  was,  in 
fact,  rather  scandalously  subjected  before  Tandy's  Castle 
passed  into  his  possession.  But  pass  into  his  possession 
it  finally  did,  whereupon  he  fell  joyously  to  the  work  of 
reconstructive  redemption. 

First  of  all  he  ordered  the  entrance  of  the  underground 
passage,  leading  to  the  river  foreshore,  to  be  securely 
walled  up ;  and,  with  a  fine  disregard  of  possible  unhealthy 
consequences  in  the  shape  of  choke-damp,  the  doorways  of 
certain  ill-reputed  vaults  and  cellars  to  be  filled  with  solid 
masonry.  Neither  harborage  of  contraband,  cruel  laughter 
of  man,  or  yell  of  tortured  beast,  should  again  defile  the 
under-world  of  Tandy's! — Next  he  had  the  roof  of  the 
main  building  raised,  and  given  a  less  mean  and  meagre 
angle.  He  added  a  wing  on  the  left  containing  pleasant 
bedchambers  upstairs,  and  good  offices  below;  and,  as 
crowning  act  of  redemption,  caused  three  large  ground- 
floor  rooms,  backed  by  a  wide  corridor,  to  be  built  on  the 
right  in  which  to  house  his  library  and  collections.  This 
lateral  extension  of  the  house,  constructed  according  to  his 
own  plans,  was,  like  its  designer,  somewhat  eccentric  in 
character.  The  three  rooms  were  semicircular,  all  window 
on  the  southern  garden  front,  veritable  sun-traps,  with 
a  low  sloped  roofing  of  grey-green  slate  to  them,  set  fan- 
wise. 

Such  was  the  house  at  Deadham  Hard  when  Mr.  Verity's 
labours  were  completed.  And  such  did  it  remain  until  a 
good  eighty  years  later,  when  it  was  visited  by  a  youthful 
namesake  and  great-great  nephew,  under  circumstances 
not  altogether  unworthy  of  record. 


CHAPTER  II 

ENTER    A    YOUNG    SCHOLAR    AND    GENTLEMAN    OP    A    HAPPY 
DISPOSITION  AND  GOOD  PROSPECTS 

THE  four-twenty  down  train  rumbled  into  Mary- 
church  station,  and  Tom  Verity  stepped  out  of  a 
rather  f rousty  first-class  carriage  on  to  the  platform. 
There  hot  still  September  sunshine,  tempered  by  a  fresh- 
ness off  the  sea,  met  him.  The  effect  was  pleasurable, 
adding  delicate  zest  to  the  enjoyment  of  living  which 
already  possessed  him.  Coming  from  inland,  the  near 
neighbourhood  of  the  sea,  the  sea  with  its  eternal  invita- 
tion, stirred  his  blood. 

For  was  not  he  about  to  accept  the  said  invitation  in  its 
fullest  and  most  practical  expression?  Witness  the  fact 
that,  earlier  in  the  day,  he  had  deposited  his  heavy  baggage 
at  that  house  of  many  partings,  many  meetings,  Radley's 
Hotel,  Southampton;  and  journeyed  on  to  Marychurch 
with  a  solitary,  eminently  virgin,  cowhide  portmanteau, 
upon  the  yellow-brown  surface  of  which  the  words — 
"  Thomas  Clarkson  Verity,  passenger  Bombay,  first  cabin 
R.M.S.  Penang  " — were  inscribed  in  the  whitest  of  letter- 
ing. His  name  stood  high  in  the  list  of  successful  candi- 
dates at  the  last  Indian  Civil  Service  examination.  Now 
he  reaped  the  reward  of  past  endeavour.  For  with  that 
deposition  of  heavy  baggage  at  Radley's  the  last  farewell 
to  years  of  tutelage  seemed  to  him  to  be  spoken.  Nursery 
discipline,  the  restraints  and  prohibitions — in  their  respec- 
tive degrees — of  preparatory  school,  of  Harchester,  of 
Oxford;  and,  above  all  and  through  all,  the  control  and 
admonitions  of  his  father,  the  Archdeacon,  fell  away  from 
him  into  the  limbo  of  things  done  with,  outworn  and  out- 
paced. 

This  moved  him  as  pathetic,  yet  as  satisfactory  also,  since 

12 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  TAMARISKS          13 

it  set  him  free  to  fix  his  mind,  without  lurking  suspicion 
of  indecorum,  upon  the  large  promise  of  the  future.  He 
could  give  rein  to  his  eagerness,  to  his  high  sense  of  ex- 
pectation, while  remaining  innocent  of  impiety  towards 
persons  and  places  holding,  until  now,  first  claim  on  his 
obedience  and  affection.  All  this  fell  in  admirably  with 
his  natural  bent.  Self-reliant,  agreeably  egotistical,  con- 
vinced of  the  excellence  of  his  social  and  mental  equipment, 
Tom  was  saved  from  excess  of  conceit  by  a  lively  desire  to 
please,  an  even  more  lively  sense  of  humour,  and  an  intelli- 
gence to  which  at  this  period  nothing  came  amiss  in  the 
way  of  new  impressions  or  experiences. 

And,  from  henceforth,  he  was  his  own  master,  his 
thoughts,  actions,  purposes,  belonging  to  himself  and  to 
himself  alone.  Really  the  position  was  a  little  intoxicating ! 
Realizing  it,  as  he  sat  in  the  somewhat  stuffy  first-class 
carriage,  on  that  brief  hour's  journey  from  Southampton 
to  Marychurch,  he  had  laughed  out  loud,  hunching  up  his 
shoulders  saucily,  in  a  sudden  outburst  of  irrepressible 
and  boyish  glee. 

But  as  the  line,  clearing  the  purlieus  of  the  great  sea- 
port, turns  south-westward  running  through  the  noble  oak 
and  beech  woods  of  Arnewood  Forest,  crossing  its  bleak 
moorlands — silver  pink,  at  the  present  season,  with  fading 
heather — and  cutting  through  its  plantations  of  larch  and 
Scotch  fir,  Tom  Verity's  mood  sobered.  He  watched  the 
country  reeling  away  to  right  and  left  past  the  carriage 
windows,  and  felt  its  peculiarly  English  and  sylvan  charm. 
Yet  he  saw  it  all  through  a  dazzle,  as  of  mirage,  in  which 
floated  phantom  landscapes  strangely  different  in  senti- 
ment and  in  suggestion. — Some  extravagantly  luxuriant, 
as  setting  to  crowded  painted  cities,  some  desert,  amazingly 
vacant  and  desolate;  but,  in  either  case,  poetic,  alluring, 
exciting,  as  scenes  far  removed  in  climate,  faith  and  civili- 
zation from  those  heretofore  familiar  can  hardly  fail  to  be. 
India,  and  all  which  India  stands  for  in  English  history, 
challenged  his  imagination,  challenged  his  ambition,  since 
in  virtue  of  his  nationality,  young  and  inexperienced 
though  he  was,  he  went  to  her  as  a  natural  ruler,  the  son  of 


14  DEADHAM  HARD 

a  conquering  race.  And  this  last  thought  begot  in  him  not 
only  exultation  but  an  unwonted  seriousness.  While,  as 
he  thus  meditated,  from  out  the  dazzle  as  of  mirage,  a 
single  figure  grew  into  force  and  distinctness  of  outline, 
a  figure  which  from  his  childhood  had  appealed  to  him 
with  an  attraction  at  once  sinister  and  heroic — that,  namely, 
of  a  certain  soldier  and  ex-Indian  official,  his  kinsman,  to 
pay  a  politic  tribute  of  respect  to  whom  was  the  object 
of  his  present  excursion. 

In  Catholic  countries  the  "World  gives  its  children  to  the 
Church.  In  Protestant  countries  the  process  is  not  infre- 
quently reversed,  the  Church  giving  its  children  to  the 
World,  and  that  with  an  alacrity  which  argues  remarkable 
faith  and  courage — of  a  sort!  Archdeacon  Verity  had 
carefully  planned  this  visit  for  his  son,  although  it  obliged 
the  young  man  to  leave  home  two  days  earlier  than  he 
need  otherwise  have  done.  It  was  illuminating  to  note 
how  the  father  brought  all  the  resources  of  a  fine  presence, 
an  important  manner  and  full-toned  archidiaconal  voice 
to  bear  upon  proving  the  expediency  of  the  young  man 
visiting  this  particular  relation,  over  whose  career  and 
reputation  he  had  so  often,  in  the  past,  pursed  up  his 
lips  and  shaken  his  head  for  the  moral  benefit  of  the 
domestic  circle. 

For  the  Archdeacon,  in  common  with  the  majority  of  the 
Verity  family,  was  animated  by  that  ineradicable  distrust 
of  anything  approaching  genius  which  distinguishes  the 
English  country,  or  rather  county,  mind.  And  that  Sir 
Charles  Verity  had  failed  to  conform  to  the  family  tradi- 
tion of  solid,  unemotional,  highly  respectable,  and  usually 
very  wealthy,  mediocrity  was  beyond  question.  He  had 
struck  out  a  line  for  himself;  and,  as  the  event  disclosed, 
an  illustrious  one.  This  the  Archdeacon,  being  a  good 
Conservative,  disapproved.  It  worried  him  sadly,  making 
him  actually,  if  unconsciously,  exceedingly  jealous.  And 
precisely  on  that  account,  by  an  ingenious  inversion  of 
reasoning,  he  felt  he  owed  it  to  abstract  justice — in  other 
words  to  his  much  disgruntled  self — to  make  all  possible 
use  of  this  offending,  this  renegade  personage,  when  oppor- 


15 

tunity  of  so  doing  occurred.  Now,  learning  on  credible 
authority  that  Sir  Charles's  name  was  still  one  to  conjure 
with  in  India,  it  clearly  became  his  duty  to  bid  his  son 
seek  out  and  secure  whatever  modicum  of  advantage — 
in  the  matter  of  advice  and  introductions — might  be 
derivable  from  so  irritating  a  source. 

All  of  which,  while  jumping  with  his  own  desires,  caused 
Tom  much  sly  mirth.  For  might  it  not  be  counted  among 
the  satisfactory  results  of  his  deposition  of  heavy  baggage 
at  Radley's  that,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  he  was  at 
liberty  to  regard  even  his  father,  Thomas  Pontifex  Verity, 
Archdeacon  of  Harchester  and  Hector  of  Canton  Magna, 
in  a  true  perspective  ?  And  he  laughed  again,  though  this 
time  softly,  indulgently,  able  in  the  plenitude  of  youthful 
superiority  to  extend  a  kindly  tolerance  towards  the  foibles 
and  ingenuous  hypocrisies  of  poor  middle-age. 

But  here  the  train,  emerging  from  the  broken  hilly 
country  on  the  outskirts  of  the  forest,  roared  along  the 
embankment  which  carries  the  line  across  the  rich  con- 
verging valleys  of  the  Wilner  and  the  Arne.  Tom  ceased 
to  think  either  of  possible  advantage  accruing  to  his  own 
fortunes,  or  these  defects  of  the  family  humour  which  had 
combined  to  dictate  his  present  excursion,  his  attention 
being  absorbed  by  the  beauty  of  the  immediate  outlook. 
For  on  the  left  Marychurch  came  into  view. 

The  great,  grey,  long-backed  abbey  stands  on  a  heart- 
shaped  peninsula  of  slightly  rising  ground.  Its  western 
tower,  land-mark  for  the  valleys  and  seamark  for  vessels 
making  the  Haven,  overtops  the  avenue  of  age-old  elms 
which  shade  the  graveyard.  Close  about  the  church,  the 
red  brick  and  rough-cast  houses  of  the  little  market-town 
— set  in  a  wide  margin  of  salt-marsh  and  meadow  inter- 
sected by  blue-brown  waterways — gather,  as  a  brood  of 
chickens  gathers  about  a  mothering  hen.  Beyond  lie  the 
pale  glinting  levels  of  the  estuary,  guarded  on  the  west 
by  gently  upward  sloping  cornlands  and  on  the  south  by 
the  dark  furze  and  heath-clad  mass  of  Stone  Horse  Head. 
Beyond  again,  to  the  low  horizon,  stretches  the  Channel 
sea. 


16  DEADHAM  HARD 

The  very  simplicity  of  the  picture  gives  it  singular  dig- 
nity and  repose.  Classic  in  its  clearness  of  outline  and 
paucity  of  detail,  mediaeval  in  sentiment,  since  the  great 
Norman  church  dominates  the  whole,  its  appeal  is  at  once 
wistful  and  severe.  And,  this  afternoon,  just  as  the  near- 
ness of  the  sea  tempered  the  atmosphere  lifting  all  op- 
pressive weight  from  the  brooding  sunshine,  so  did  it 
temper  the  colouring,  lending  it  an  ethereal  quality,  in 
which  blue  softened  to  silver,  grey  to  lavender,  while  green 
seemed  overspread  by  powdered  gold.  The  effect  was  ex- 
quisite, reminding  Tom  of  certain  water-colour  drawings, 
by  Danvers  and  by  Appleyard,  hanging  in  the  drawing- 
room  of  the  big  house  at  Canton  Magna,  and  of  certain  of 
Shelley's  lyrics — both  of  which,  in  their  different  medium, 
breathed  the  same  enchantment  of  natural  and  spiritual 
loveliness,  of  nameless  desire,  nameless  regret.  And,  his 
nerves  being  somewhat  strained  by  the  emotions  of  the 
day,  that  enchantment  worked  upon  him  strangely.  The 
inherent  pathos  of  it,  indeed,  took  him,  as  squarely  as 
unexpectedly,  by  the  throat.  He  suffered  a  sharp  recoil 
from  the  solicitation  of  the  future,  an  immense  tenderness 
towards  the  past. — A  tenderness  for  those  same  years  of 
tutelage  and  all  they  had  brought  him,  not  only  in  over- 
flowing animal  spirits,  happy  intercourse  and  intellectual 
attainment;  but  in  their  limitation  of  private  action,  their 
security  of  obligation,  of  obedience  to  authority,  which  at 
the  time  had  seemed  irksome  enough  and  upon  release  from 
which  he  had  so  recently  congratulated  himself. 

Love  of  home,  of  England,  of  his  own  people — of  the 
Archdeacon,  in  even  his  most  full-voiced  and  moralizing 
mood — love  of  things  tested,  accustomed  and  friendly, 
touched  him  to  the  quick.  Suddenly  he  asked  himself  to 
what  end  was  he  leaving  all  these  and  going  forth  to  en- 
counter untried  conditions,  an  unknown  Nature,  a  moral 
and  social  order  equally  unknown?  Looking  at  the  peace- 
ful, ethereally  lovely  landscape,  set  in  such  close  proximity 
and  notable  contrast  to  the  unrest  of  that  historic  high- 
way of  the  nations,  the  Channel  sea,  he  felt  small  and 
lonely,  childishly  diffident  and  weak.  All  the  established 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  TAMARISKS          17 

safety  and  comfort  of  home,  all  the  thoughtless  irre- 
sponsible delights  of  vanished  boyhood,  pulled  at  his  heart- 
strings. He  wanted,  wanted  wildly,  desperately,  not  to  go 
forward  but  to  go  back. 

Mind  and  body  being  healthy,  however,  the  phase  was  a 
passing  one,  and  his  emotion,  though  sincere  and  poignant, 
of  brief  duration.  For  young  blood — happily  for  the 
human  story,  which  otherwise  would  read  altogether  too 
sad — defies  forebodings,  gaily  embraces  risks;  and,  true 
soldier  of  fortune,  marches  out  to  meet  whatever  fate  the 
battlefield  of  manhood  may  hold  for  it,  a  song  in  its  mouth 
and  a  rose  behind  its  ear. 

Tom  Verity  speedily  came  to  a  steadier  mind,  pouring 
honest  contempt  upon  his  momentary  lapse  from  self- 
confidence.  He  was  ashamed  of  it.  It  amounted  to  being 
silly,  simply  silly.  He  couldn't  understand,  couldn't  ac- 
count for  it.  What  possessed  him  to  get  a  regular  scare 
like  this  ?  It  was  too  absurd  for  words.  Sentiment  ? — Yes, 
by  all  means  a  reasonable  amount  of  it,  well  in  hand  and 
thus  capable  of  translation — if  the  fancy  took  you — into 
nicely  turned  elegiac  verse;  but  a  scare,  a  scare  pure  and 
simple,  wasn't  to  be  tolerated!  And  he  got  up,  standing 
astraddle  to  brace  himself  against  the  swinging  of  the 
train,  while  he  stretched,  settling  himself  in  his  clothes — 
pulled  down  the  fronts  of  his  waistcoat,  buttoned  the  jacket 
of  his  light  check  suit;  and,  taking  off  his  wide-awake, 
smoothed  his  soft,  slightly  curly  russet-coloured  hair  with 
his  hand.  These  adjustments,  and  the  assurance  they  in- 
duced that  his  personal  appearance  was  all  which  it  should 
be,  completed  his  moral  restoration.  He  stepped  down  on 
to  the  platform,  into  the  serene  light  and  freshness,  as 
engaging  and  hopeful  a  youth  of  three  and  twenty  as  any 
one  need  ask  to  see. 

"  For  The  Hard?  Very  good,  sir.  Sir  Charles's  trap  ia 
outside  in  the  station  yard.  One  portmanteau  in  the 
van?  Quite  so.  Don't  trouble  yourself  about  it,  sir.  I'll 
send  a  porter  to  bring  it  along." 

This  from  the  station-master,  with  a  degree  of  friendly 
deference  far  from  displeasing  to  the  recipient  of  it. 


18  DEADHAM  HARD 

Whatever  the  defects  of  the  rank  and  file  of  the  Verity 
family  in  respect  of  liberal  ideas,  it  can  safely  be  asserted 
of  all  its  members,  male  and  female,  clerical  and  lay,  alike, 
that  they  belonged  to  the  equestrian  order.  Hence  it  added 
considerably  to  Tom's  recovered  self-complacency  to  find 
a  smart  two-wheel  dogcart  awaiting  him,  drawn  by  a  re- 
markably well-shaped  and  well-groomed  black  horse.  The 
coachman  was  to  match.  Middle-aged,  clean-shaven,  his 
Napoleonic  face  set  as  a  mask,  his  undress  livery  of  pepper- 
and-salt  mixture  soberly  immaculate.  He  touched  his  hat 
when  our  young  gentleman  appeared  and  mounted  beside 
him ;  the  horse,  meanwhile,  shivering  a  little  and  showing 
the  red  of  its  nostrils  as  the  train,  with  strident  whistlings, 
drew  out  of  the  station  bound  westward  to  Stourmouth 
and  Barryport. 

Later  the  horse  broke  up  the  abiding  inertia  of  Mary- 
church  High  Street,  by  dancing  as  it  passed  the  engine 
of  a  slowly  ambulant  thrashing  machine ;  and  only  settled 
fairly  into  its  stride  when  the  three-arched,  twelfth  century 
stone  bridge  over  the  Arne  was  passed,  and  the  road — 
leaving  the  last  scattered  houses  of  the  little  town — turned 
south  and  seaward  skirting  the  shining  expanse  of  The 
Haven  and  threading  the  semi-amphibious  hamlets  of 
Horny  Cross  and  Lamp  it. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE    DOUBTFULLY    HARMONIOUS    PARTS    OF    A    WHOLE 

ALONG,  low,  rectangular  and  rather  narrow  room,  sup- 
ported across  the  centre — where  passage  walls  had 
been  cut  away — by  an  avenue  of  dumpy  wooden 
pillars,  four  on  either  side,  leading  to  a  glass  door  opening 
on  to  the  garden.  A  man's  room  rather  than  a  woman's, 
and,  judging  by  appearances,  a  bachelor's  at  that. — 
Eighteenth-century  furniture,  not  ignoble  in  line,  but 
heavy,  wide-seated,  designed  for  the  comfort  of  bulky 
paunched  figures  arrayed  in  long  flapped  waistcoats  and 
full-skirted  coats.  Tabaret  curtains  and  upholsterings, 
originally  maroon,  now  dulled  by  sea  damp  and  bleached 
by  sun-glare  to  a  uniform  tone  in  which  colour  and  pattern 
were  alike  obliterated.  Handsome  copperplate  engravings 
of  Pisa  and  of  Rome,  and  pastel  portraits  in  oval  frames ; 
the  rest  of  the  whity  brown  panelled  wall  space  hidden  by 
bookcases.  These  surmounted  by  softly  shining,  pearl-grey 
Chinese  godlings,  monsters,  philosophers  and  saints,  the 
shelves  below  packed  with  neatly  ranged  books. 

A  dusky  room,  in  spite  of  its  rounded,  outstanding  sash- 
windows,  two  on  either  side  the  glass  door;  the  air  of  it 
holding,  in  permanent  solution,  an  odour  of  leather-bound 
volumes.  A  place,  in  short,  which,  though  not  inhospitable, 
imposed  itself,  its  qualities  and  traditions,  to  an  extent 
impossible  for  any  save  the  most  thick  skinned  and  thick- 
witted  wholly  to  ignore  or  resist. 

Young  Tom  Verity,  having  no  convenient  armour-plating 
of  stupidity,  suffered  its  influence  intimately  as — looking 
about  him  with  quick  enquiring  glances — he  followed  the 
man-servant  across  it  between  the  dumpy  pillars.  He  felt 
self-conscious  and  disquieted,  as  by  a  smile  of  silent  amuse- 
ment upon  some  watchful  elderly  face.  So  impressed,  in- 

19 


20  DEADHAM  HARD 

deed,  was  he  that,  on  reaching  the  door,  he  paused,  letting 
the  man  pass  on  alone  to  announce  him.  He  wanted  time 
in  which  to  get  over  this  queer  sensation  of  shyness,  be- 
fore presenting  himself  to  the  company  assembled,  there, 
in  the  garden  outside. 

Yet  he  was  well  aware  that  the  prospect  out  of  doors — 
its  amplitude  of  mellow  sunlight  and  of  space,  its  fair 
windless  calm  in  which  no  leaf  stirred — was  far  more 
attractive  than  the  room  in  the  doorway  of  which  he  thus 
elected  to  linger. 

For  the  glass-door  gave  directly  on  to  an  extensive  lawn, 
set  out,  immediately  before  the  house  front,  with  scarlet 
and  crimson  geraniums  in  alternating  square  and  lozenge- 
shaped  beds.  Away  on  the  right  a  couple  of  grey-stemmed 
ilex  trees — the  largest  in  height  and  girth  Tom  had  ever 
seen — cast  finely  vandyked  and  platted  shadow  upon  the 
smooth  turf.  Beneath  them,  garden  chairs  were  stationed 
and  a  tea-table  spread,  at  which  four  ladies  sat — one,  the 
elder,  dressed  in  crude  purple,  the  other  three,  though  of 
widely  differing  ages  and  aspect,  in  light  coloured  summer 
gowns. 

To  the  left  of  the  lawn,  a  high  plastered  wall — masked 
by  hollies,  bay,  yew,  and  at  the  far  end  by  masses  of  airy, 
pink-plumed  tamarisk — shut  off  the  eastward  view.  But 
straight  before  him  all  lay  open,  "  clean  away  to  the  curve 
of  the  world  "  as  he  told  himself,  not  without  a  pull  of 
emotion  remembering  his  impending  voyage.  For,  about 
sixty  yards  distant,  the  lawn  ended  abruptly  in  a  hard 
straight  line — the  land  cut  off  sheer,  as  it  seemed,  at  the 
outer  edge  of  a  gravelled  terrace,  upon  which  two  small 
antiquated  cannon  were  mounted,  their  rusty  muzzles 
trained  over  swirling  blue-green  tide  river  and  yellow- 
grey,  high-cambered  sand-bar  out  to  sea. 

Between  these  innocuous  engines  of  destruction,  little 
black  cannon  balls  had  been  piled  into  a  mimic  pyramid, 
near  to  which  three  men  stood  engaged  in  desultory  conver- 
sation. One  of  them,  Tom  observed  as  markedly  taller, 
more  commanding  and  distinguished  in  bearing,  than  his 
companions.  Even  from  here,  the  whole  length  of  the  lawn 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  TAMARISKS          21 

intervening,  his  presence,  once  noted,  became  of  arresting 
importance,  focussing  attention  as  the  central  interest,  the 
one  thing  which  vitally  mattered  in  this  gracious  scene — 
his  figure  silhouetted,  vertically,  against  those  long  hori- 
zontal lines  of  river,  sand-bar,  and  far-away  delicate  junc- 
tion of  opal-tinted  sea  with  opal-tinted  sky. 

Whereupon  Tom  became  convicted  of  the  agreeable  cer- 
tainty that  no  disappointment  awaited  him.  His  expecta- 
tions were  about  to  receive  generous  fulfilment.  This  visit 
would  prove  well  worth  while.  So  absorbed,  indeed,  was 
he  in  watching  the  man  whom  he  supposed — and  rightly — 
to  be  his  host,  that  he  failed  to  notice  one  of  the  ladies  rise 
from  the  tea-table  and  advance  across  the  lawn,  until  her 
youthful  white-clad  form  was  close  upon  him,  threading 
its  way  between  the  glowing  geranium  beds. 

Then — "  You  are  my  cousin,  Thomas  Verity?  "  the  girl 
asked,  with  a  grave  air  of  ceremony. 

"  Yes — and  you — you  are  my  cousin  Damaris,"  he 
answered  as  he  felt  clumsily,  being  taken  unaware  in  more 
respects  than  one,  and,  for  all  his  ready  adaptability,  being 
unable  to  keep  a  note  of  surprise  out  of  his  voice  and 
glance. 

He  had  known  of  the  existence  of  this  little  cousin,  hav- 
ing heard — on  occasion — vaguely  irritated  family  mention 
of  her  birth  at  a  time  when  the  flame  of  the  Mutiny  still 
burned  fiercely  in  the  Punjab  and  in  Oudh.  To  be  born 
under  such  very  accentuated  circumstances  could,  in  the 
eyes  of  every  normal  Verity,  hardly  fail  to  argue  a  certain 
obtrusiveness  and  absence  of  good  taste.  He  had  heard, 
moreover,  disapproving  allusions  to  the  extravagant  affec- 
tion Sir  Charles  Verity  was  said  to  lavish  upon  this  fruit 
of  a  somewhat  obscure  marriage — his  only  surviving  child. 
But  the  said  family  talk,  in  Tom 's  case,  had  gone  in  at  one 
ear  and  out  at  the  other — as  the  talk  of  the  elder  genera- 
tion mostly  does,  and  will,  when  the  younger  generation 
is  solidly  and  wholesomely  convinced  of  the  overwhelming 
importance  of  its  own  personal  affairs.  Consequently,  in 
coming  to  Deadham  Hard,  Tom  had  thought  of  this  little 
cousin — in  as  far  as  it  occurred  to  him  to  think  of  her  at 


22  DEADHAM  HARD 

all — as  a  child  in  the  schoolroom  who,  beyond  a  trifle  of 
goodnatured  notice  at  odd  moments,  would  not  enter  into 
the  count  or  matter  at  all.  Now,  awakening  to  the  fact 
of  her  proximity,  he  awoke  to  the  further  fact  that,  with 
one  exception,  she  mattered  more  than  anything  or  any- 
body else  present. 

She  was,  in  truth,  young — he  had  been  quite  right  there. 
Yet,  like  the  room  in  the  doorway  of  which  he  still 
lingered,  like  the  man  standing  on  the  terrace  walk — to 
whose  tall  figure  the  serene  immensities  of  sea  and  sky 
acted  as  back-cloth  and  setting — she  imposed  herself. 
Whether  she  was  pretty  or  plain,  Tom  was  just  now  in- 
capable of  judging.  He  only  knew  that  her  eyes  were 
wonderful.  He  never  remembered  to  have  seen  such  eyes 
— clear,  dark  blue-grey  with  fine  shading  of  eyelash  on  the 
lower  as  well  as  the  upper  lid.  Unquestionably  they  sur- 
passed all  ordinary  standards  of  prettiness.  Were  glorious, 
yet  curiously  embarrassing  too  in  their  seriousness,  their 
intent  impartial  scrutiny — under  which  last,  to  his  lively 
vexation,  the  young  man  felt  himself  redden. 

And  this,  considering  his  superiority  in  age,  sex,  and 
acquirements,  was  not  only  absurd  but  unfair  somehow.  For 
did  not  he,  as  a  rule,  get  on  charmingly  well  with  women, 
gentle  and  simple,  old  and  young,  alike?  Had  he  not  an 
ingratiating,  playfully  flirtatious  way  with  them  in  which 
he  trusted?  But  flirtatiousness,  even  of  the  mildest  de- 
scription, would  not  do  here.  Instinctively  he  recognized 
that.  It  would  not  pay  at  all — in  this  stage  of  the  ac- 
quaintance, at  all  events.  He  fell  back  on  civil  speeches ; 
and  these  rather  laboured  ones,  being  himself  rather  dis- 
countenanced. 

"  It  is  extremely  kind  of  you  and  Sir  Charles  to  take  me 
on  trust  like  this,"  he  began.  "  Believe  me  I  am  very 
grateful.  Under  ordinary  circumstances  I  should  never 
have  dreamed  of  proposing  myself.  But  I  am  going  out 
to  India  for  the  first  time — sailing  in  the  Penang  the  day 
after  to-morrow.  And,  as  I  should  be  so  near  here  at 
Southampton,  it  was,  I  own,  a  great  temptation  to  ask  if 
I  might  come  for  a  night.  I  felt — my  father  felt — what 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  TAMARISKS          23 

a  privilege  it  would  be  for  me,  a  really  tremendous  piece  of 
luck,  to  meet  Sir  Charles  before  I  started.  Such  a  rare 
and  memorable  send  off  for  me,  you  know!  >! 

"  We  were  very  glad  you  should  propose  yourself," 
Damaris  answered,  still  with  her  grave  air  of  cere- 
mony. 

' '  Awfully  good  of  you,  I  'm  sure, ' '  the  young  man  mur- 
mured.— No,  she  didn't  stare.  He  could  not  honestly  call 
it  staring.  It  was  too  calm,  too  impersonal,  too  reserved 
for  that.  She  looked,  with  a  view  to  arriving  at  conclusions 
regarding  him.  And  he  didn't  enjoy  the  process — not  in 
the  least. 

"  My  father  is  still  interested  in  everything-  connected 
with  India,"  she  went  on.  "  He  will  like  to  talk  to  you. 
We  have  people  with  us  this  afternoon  whom  he  could  not 
very  well  leave,  or  he  would  have  driven  into  Marychurch 
himself  to  fetch  you.  Dr.  McCabe,  who  we  knew  at 
Bhutpur  long  ago,  came  over  unexpectedly  from  Stour- 
mouth  this  morning;  and  my  Aunt  Harriet  Cowden  tele- 
graphed that  she  and  Uncle  Augustus  would  bring  Aunt 
Felicia,  who  is  staying  with  them  at  Paulton  Lacy,  here  to 
tea. — But,  of  course,  you  know  them  quite  well — Uncle 
Augustus,  I  mean,  and  my  aunts." 

"  Do  I  not  know  them!  "  Tom  replied  with  meaning; 
while,  humour  getting  the  upper  hand  thanks  to  certain 
memories,  he  smiled  at  her. 

And,  even  at  this  early  period  in  his  career,  it  must  be 
conceded  that  Tom  Verity's  smile  was  an  asset  to  be 
reckoned  with.  Mischievous  to  the  verge  of  impudence; 
but  confidential,  too,  most  disarmingly  friendly — a  really 
vastly  engaging  smile,  which,  having  once  beheld,  most 
persons  found  themselves  more  than  ready  to  behold  often 
again. 

Under  its  persuasive  influence  Damaris'  gravity  relaxed. 
She  lowered  her  eyes,  and  the  soft  warm  colour  deepened 
in  her  cheeks. 

Her  steady  gaze  removed,  the  young  man  breathed  more 
freely.  He  congratulated  himself.  Intercourse  was  in 
act  of  becoming  normal  and  easy.  So  far  it  had  been  quite 


24  DEADHAM  HARD 

absurdly  hind-leggy — and  for  him,  him,  to  be  forced  into 
being  hind-leggy  by  a  girl  of  barely  eighteen!  Now  he 
prepared  to  trot  gaily,  comfortably,  off  on  all  fours,  when 
she  spoke,  bringing  him  up  to  the  perpendicular  again 
with  a  start. 

"  I  love  Aunt  Felicia  very  dearly,"  she  announced,  as 
though  in  protest  against  some  implied  and  subtle  dis- 
loyalty. 

"  But  don't  we  all  love  Cousin  Felicia?  "  he  returned, 
promptly,  eager  to  maintain  his  advantage.  "  Isn't  she 
kindness  incarnate,  Christian  charity  personified?  As  for 
me,  I  simply  dote  on  her;  and  with  reason,  for  ever  since 
those  remote  ages  in  which  I  wore  scratchy  pinafores  and 
horrid  little  white  socks,  she  has  systematically  and  per- 
tinaciously spoiled  me  whenever  she  stayed  at  Canton 
Magna. — Oh!  she  is  an  institution.  No  family  should  be 
without  her.  When  I  was  small  she  gave  me  chocolates, 
tin  soldiers,  pop-guns  warranted  to  endanger  my  brothers' 
and  sisters'  eyesight.  And  now,  in  a  thousand  ways,  con- 
scious and  unconscious,"  he  laughed  quietly,  naughtily, 
the  words  running  over  each  other  in  the  rapidity  of  hi8 
speech — "  she  gives  me  such  a  blessed  good  conceit  of 
myself!  " 

And  Damaris  Verity,  caught  by  the  wave  of  his  light- 
heartedness  and  inherent  desire  to  please,  softened  again, 
her  serious  eyes  alight  for  the  moment  with  answering 
laughter.  Whereupon  Tom  crossed  the  threshold  and 
stood  close  beside  her  upon  the  grass  in  the  brooding  sun- 
shine, the  beds  of  scarlet  and  crimson  geraniums  ranging 
away  on  glowing  perspective  to  left  and  right.  He  glanced 
at  the  three  ladies  seated  beneath  the  giant  ilexes,  and  back 
at  his  companion.  He  felt  absurdly  keen  further  to  excite 
her  friendliness  and  dispel  her  gravity. 

"  Only  one  must  admit  cousin  Harriet  is  quite  another 
story,"  he  went  on  softly,  saucily.  "  Any  conceit  our  dear 
Felicia  rubs  in  to  you,  Harriet  most  effectually  rubs  out. 
Isn't  it  so?  I  am  as  a  worm,  a  positive  worm  before  her 
— can  only  '  tremble  and  obey  '  like  the  historic  lady  in  the 
glee.  She  flattens  me.  I  haven't  an  ounce  of  kick  left  in 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  TAMARISKS          25 

me.     And  then  why,  oh  why,  tell  me,  Damaris,  does  she 
invariably  and  persistently  clothe  herself  in  violet  ink?  " 

"  It  is  her  colour,"  the  girl  said,  her  eyes  still  laughing, 
her  lips  discreetly  set. 

"  But  why,  in  heaven's  name,  should  she  have  a 
colour?  "  he  demanded.  "For  identification,  as  I  have  a 
red  and  white  stripe  painted  on  my  steamer  baggage? 
Really  that  isn  't  necessary.  Can  you  imagine  losing  cousin 
Harriet?  Augustus  Cowden  mislaying  her,  for  example; 
and  only  recovering  her  with  joyful  cries — we  take  those 
for  granted  in  his  case,  of  course — at  sight  of  the  violet 
ink?  Not  a  bit  of  it.  You  know  as  well  as  I  do  identifi- 
cation marks  can't  ever  be  required  to  secure  her  return, 
because  under  no  conceivable  circumstances  could  she  ever 
be  lost.  She  is  there,  dear  lady,  lock,  stock,  and  barrel, 
right  there  all  the  time.  So  her  raiment  of  violet  amounts 
to  a  purely  gratuitous  advertisement  of  a  permanently  self- 
evident  fact. — And  such  a  shade  too,  such  a  positively 
excruciating  shade!  " 

1  But  here  a  movement  upon  the  terrace  served,  indirectly, 
to  put  a  term  to  his  patter.  For  Sir  Charles  Verity,  raising 
his  voice  slightly  in  passing  emphasis,  turned  and  moved 
slowly  towards  the  little  company  gathered  at  the  tea- 
table.  His  two  companions  followed,  the  shorter  of  them 
apparently  making  answer,  the  words  echoing  clearly  in 
genial  richness  of  affirmation  across  the  intervening  space — 

' '  And  so  it  was,  General,  am  I  not  recalling  the  incident 
myself?  Indeed  you're  entirely  right." 

"  Come,"  Damaris  said,  with  a  certain  brevity  as  of 
command. 

"  And  feel  a  worm?  " 

"  No — come  and  speak  to  my  father." 

"  Ah!  I  shall  feel  a  worm  there  too,"  the  young  man 
returned,  an  engaging  candour  in  his  smiling  countenance ; 
"  and  with  far  better  reason,  unless  I  am  greatly  mis- 
taken." 


CHAPTEE  IV 

WATCHERS    THROUGH    THE   SMALL   HOURS 

E>VB,  ill-health  and  debt  being,  as  yet,  unknown  quanti- 
ties to  young  Tom  Verity,  it  followed  that  insomnia, 
with  its  thousand  and  one  attendant  miseries,  was  an 
unknown  quantity  likewise.  Upon  the  eve  of  the  stiffest 
competitive  examination  those,  now  outlived,  years  of  tute- 
lage had  imposed  on  him,  he  could  still  tumble  into  bed 
secure  of  lapsing  into  unconsciousness  as  soon  as  his  head 
fairly  touched  the  pillow.  Dreams  might,  and  usually  did, 
visit  him;  but  as  so  much  incidental  music  merely  to  the 
large  content  of  slumber — tittering  up  and  down,  too  airily 
light-footed  and  evanescent  to  leave  any  impress  on  mind 
er  spirits  when  he  woke. 

This  night,  at  Deadham  Hard,  marked  a  new  departure ; 
deep  proving  a  less  absolute  break  in  continuity  of  sensa- 
tion, a  less  absolute  barrier  between  day  and  day. 

The  Honourable  Augustus  and  Mrs.  Cowden,  and  Felicia 
Verity,  not  without  last  words,  adjurations,  commands 
and  fussings,  started  on  their  twelve-mile  drive  home  to 
Paulton  Lacy  about  six  o'clock.  A  little  later  Dr.  McCabe 
conveyed  himself,  and  his  brogue,  away  in  an  ancient  hired 
landau  to  catch  the  evening  train  from  Marychurch  to 
Stourmouth.  Dinner  followed,  shortly  after  which 
Damaris  vanished,  along  with  her  governess-companion, 
Miss  Theresa  Bilson — a  plump,  round-visaged,  pink-nosed 
little  person,  permanently  wearing  gold  eyeglasses,  the  out- 
standing distinction  of  whose  artless  existence  consisted, 
as  Tom  gathered  from  her  conversation,  in  a  tour  in 
Rhineland  and  residence  of  some  months'  duration  at  the 
university  town  of  Bonn. 

Then,  at  last,  came  the  harvest  of  the  young  man's  ex- 
cursion, in  the  shape  of  first-hand  records  of  war  and  gov- 

26 


27 

ernment — of  intrigue  and  of  sedition,  followed  by  stern 
retributive  chastisement — from  that  famous  soldier,  auto- 
cratic and  practised  administrator,  his  host. 

In  the  opinion  of  a  good  many  persons  Tom  Verity's 
bump  of  reverence  showed  very  insufficient  development. 
Dons,  head-masters,  the  pedagogic  and  professorial  tribe 
generally,  he  had  long  taken  in  his  stride  quite  unabashed. 
Church  dignitaries,  too,  left  him  saucily  cool.  For — so 
at  least  he  argued — was  not  his  elder  brother,  Pontifex, 
private  chaplain  to  the  Bishop  of  Harchester?  And  did 
not  this  fact — he  knowing  poor  old  Ponty  as  only  brother 
can  know  brother — throw  a  rather  lurid  light  upon  the 
spiritual  and  intellectual  limitations  of  the  Bench?  In 
respect  of  the  British  aristocracy,  his  social  betters,  he  also 
kept  an  open  mind.  For  had  not  Lord  Bulparc's  son  and 
heir,  little  Oxley,  acted  as  his  fag,  boot-black  and  bacon- 
frier,  for  the  best  part  of  a  year  at  school  ?  Notwithstand- 
ing which  fact — Lord  Oxley  was  of  a  mild,  forgiving  dis- 
position— had  not  he,  Tom,  spent  the  cricket  week  several 
summers  running  at  Napworth  Castle;  where,  on  one 
celebrated  occasion,  he  bowled  a  distinguished  Permanent 
Under-Secretary  first  ball,  and,  on  another,  chided  a 
marquis  and  ex-Cabinet  Minister  for  misquoting  Catullus. 

Yet  now,  sitting  smoking  and  listening  to  those  records 
of  eastern  rule  and  eastern  battle,  in  the  quiet  lamplight 
of  the  long  room — with  its  dark  bookcases,  faintly  gleam- 
ing Chinese  images,  and  dumpy  pillars — his  native  cheeki- 
ness  faded  into  most  unwonted  humility.  For  he  was 
increasingly  conscious  of  being,  to  put  it  vulgarly  "  up 
against  something  pretty  big. ' '  Conscious  of  a  personality 
altogether  too  secure  of  its  own  power  to  spread  itself  or, 
in  the  smallest  degree,  bluff  or  brag.  Sir  Charles  Verity 
struck  him,  indeed,  as  calm  to  the  confines  of  cynicism. 
He  gave,  but  gave  of  his  abundance,  royally  indifferent  to 
the  cost.  There  was  plenty  more  where  all  this  came  from, 
of  knowledge,  of  initiative  and  of  thought  Only  once  or 
twice,  during  the  course  of  their  long  talk,  did  the  young 
man  detect  any  sign  of  personal  feeling.  Then  for  an 
instant,  some  veil  seemed  to  be  lifted,  some  curtain  drawn 


28  DEADHAM  HARD 

aside;  while,  with  dazzling  effect,  he  became  cognizant  of 
underlying  bitterness,  underlying  romance — of  secret  deal- 
ings of  man  with  man,  of  man  with  woman,  and  the  deal- 
ing, arbitrary,  immutable,  final,  of  Death  and  a  Greater 
than  Death,  with  both. 

These  revelations  though  of  the  briefest,  over  before  he 
fairly  grasped  their  import,  gone  like  a  breath,  were  still 
sufficient  to  discredit  many  preconceived  ideas  and  enlarge 
his  mental  horizon  to  a  somewhat  anxious  extent.  They 
carried  him  very  far  from  life  as  lived  at  Canton  Magna 
Rectory ;  very  far  from  all,  indeed,  in  which  the  roots  of  his 
experience  were  set,  thus  producing  an  atmosphere  of 
doubt,  of  haunting  and  insidious  unrest. 

And  of  that  atmosphere  he  was  particularly  sensible 
when,  standing  in  the  hall,  flat  candlestick  in  hand,  he  at 
last  bade  Sir  Charles  Verity  good  night. 

' '  It  has  been  a  wonderful  evening,  sir, ' '  he  said,  simply 
and  modestly.  "  You  have  been  awfully  kind  in  sparing 
me  so  much  of  your  time ;  but,  indeed,  it  has  not  been  time 
pasted.  I  begin  to  measure  a  little  what  India  means,  I 
hope.  Certainly  I  begin  to  measure  the  depth  of  my  own 
ignorance.  I  see  I  have  nearly  everything  of  essential  im- 
portance still  to  learn.  And  that  is  a  pretty  large  order 
— almost  staggeringly  large  now  that,  thanks  to  you,  I 
begin  to  realize  the  vastness  of  the  amount." 

"  The  majority  of  men  in  your  Service  never  realize 
it, ' '  Charles  Verity  returned.  ' '  They  run  in  blinkers  from 
£rst  to  last. — Not  that  I  underrate  their  usefulness.  They 
are  honest,  painstaking,  thoroughly  reliable,  according  to 
their  lights.  They  do  excellent  journeyman  work.  But 
there  lies  the  heart  of  the  whole  matter. — Are  you  content 
to  do  journeyman  work  only ;  or  do  you  aspire  to  something 
greater? — If  the  former,  then  you  had  best  forget  me 
and  all  I  have  told  you  this  evening  as  fast  as  possible. 
For  it  will  prove  a  hindrance  rather  than  a  help,  confusing 
the  issues. — No — no — listen  a  moment,  my  dear  boy  " 

This  kindly,  indulgently  even,  as  Tom  made  a  gesture  of 
repudiation  and  began  to  speak. 

"  If  the  latter — well,  the  door  stands  open  upon  achieve- 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  TAMARISKS          29 

ment  by  no  means  contemptible,  as  the  opportunities  of 
modern  life  go ;  but,  it  is  only  fair  to  warn  you,  upon  possi- 
bilities of  trouble,  even  of  disaster,  by  no  means  con- 
temptible either.  For,  remember,  the  world  is  so  consti- 
tuted that  if  you  elect  to  drive,  rather  than  be  driven, 
you  must  be  prepared  to  take  heavy  risks,  pay  heavy 
penalties.  Understand  " 

He  laid  his  hand  on  the  young  man's  shoulder. 

"  I  do  not  pose  as  a  teacher,  still  less  as  a  propagandist. 
I  do  not  attempt  to  direct  the  jury.  The  choice  rests  ex- 
clusively with  yourself. — And  here  rid  your  mind^of  any 
cant  about  moral  obligations.  Both  ways  have  merit,  both 
bring  rewards — of  sorts — are  equally  commendable,  equally 
right.  Only  this — whether  you  choose  blinkers,  your  barrel 
between  the  shafts  and  another  man's  whip  tickling  your 
loins,  or  the  reins  in  your  own  hands  and  the  open  road 
ahead,  be  faithful  to  your  choice.  Stick  to  it,  through 
evil  report  as  well  as  through  good." 

He  lifted  his  hand  off  Tom's  shoulder.  And  the  latter, 
looking  round  at  him  was  struck — in  mingled  admiration 
and  repulsion — by  his  likeness  to  some  shapely  bird  of 
prey,  with  fierce  hooked  beak  and  russet-grey  eyes,  lumi- 
nous, cruel  perhaps,  yet  very  sad. 

' '  Above  all  be  careful  in  the  matter  of  your  affections, ' ' 
Sir  Charles  went  on,  his  voice  deepening.  "  As  you  value 
your  career,  the  pride  of  your  intellect, — yes — and  the 
pride  of  your  manhood  itself,  let  nothing  feminine  tempt 
you  to  be  unfaithful  to  your  choice.  Tempt  you  to  be  of 
two  minds,  to  turn  aside,  to  turn  back.  For,  so  surely  as 
you  do,  you  will  find  the  hell  of  disappointment,  the  hell 
of  failure  and  regret,  waiting  wide-mouthed  to  swallow 
you,  and  whatever  span  of  life  may  remain  to  you,  bodily 
up." 

He  checked  himself,  breaking  off  abruptly,  the  veil 
lowered  again,  the  curtain  drawn  into  place. 

"  There,"  he  said,  "  we  have  talked  enough,  perhaps 
more  than  enough.  You  have  a  long  day  before  you  to- 
morrow, so  my  dear  boy,  go  to  bed.  My  quarters  are  down 
here." 


30  DEADHAM  HARD 

He  made  a  gesture  towards  the  dark  corridor  opening 
off  the  far  side  of  the  hall. 

"  You  know  your  way?  The  room  on  the  right  of  the 
landing. ' ' 

"  Yes.    I  know  my  way,  thanks,  sir,"  Tom  answered — 

And,  thus  dismissed,  went  on  upstairs,  carrying  the  silver 
flat  candlestick,  while  his  shadow,  black  on  the  panelled 
wall,  mounted  beside  him  grotesquely  prancing  step  by 
step. 

The  furnishing  of  his  room  was  of  a  piece  with  all 
below,  solid  yet  not  uncomely.  It  included  a  four-post  bed 
of  generous  proportions,  hangings,  curtains  and  covers  of 
chintz,  over  which  faded  purple  and  crimson  roses  were 
flung  broadcast  on  a  honey-yellow  ground.  The  colourings 
were  discreetly  cheerful,  the  atmosphere  not  unpleasantly 
warm,  the  quiet,  save  for  the  creaking  of  a  board  as  he 
crossed  the  floor,  unbroken.  Outwardly  all  invited  to 
peaceful  slumber.  And  Tom  felt  more  than  ready  to  profit 
by  that  invitation  this  last  night  on  shore,  last  night  in 
England.  His  attention  had  been  upon  the  stretch  for  a 
good  many  hours  now,  since  that — after  all  rather  up- 
setting— good-bye  to  home  and  family  at  Canton  Magna, 
following  an  early  and  somewhat  peripatetic  breakfast. 
Notwithstanding  his  excellent  health  and  youthful  energy, 
mind  and  body  alike  were  somewhat  spent.  He  made  short 
work  of  preparation,  slipped  in  between  the  fine  cool  linen 
sheets,  and  laid  his  brown  head  upon  the  soft  billowing 
pillows,  impatient  neither  to  think  nor  feel  any  more  but 
simply  to  sleep. 

For  some  two  hours  or  so  he  did  sleep,  though  not  with- 
out phantasmagoria  queerly  disturbing.  The  sweep  of  his 
visions  was  wide,  ranging  from  that  redoubtable  county 
lady,  Harriet  Cowden  nee  Verity — first  cousin  of  his 
father,  the  Archdeacon,  and  half-sister  to  his  host — in 
her  violet-ink  hued  gown,  to  fury  of  internecine  strife  amid 
the  mountain  fastnesses  of  Afghanistan, — from  the  austere 
and  wistful  beauty  of  the  grey,  long-backed  Norman  Abbey 
rising  above  the  roofs  and  chimneys  of  the  little  English 
market-town,  to  the  fierce  hectic  splendour  of  Eastern 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  TAMARISKS          31 

cities  blistering  in  the  implacable  sun-glare  of  the  Indian 
plains.  Days  on  the  Harchester  playing  fields,  days  on  the 
river  at  Oxford,  and  still  earlier  days  in  the  Kectory 
nursery  at  home;  bringing  with  them  sense  of  small  bitter 
sorrows,  small  glorious  triumphs,  of  laughter  and  uproar- 
ious fun,  of  sentimental  passages  at  balls,  pienics,  garden 
parties,  too,  with  charmingly  pretty  maidens  who,  in  all 
probability,  he  would  never  clap  eyes  on  again — all  these, 
and  impressions  even  more  illusive  and  fugitive,  playing 
hide-and-seek  among  the  mazelike  convolutions  of  his  all 
too  active  brain. 

Then,  on  a  sudden,  he  started  up  in  bed,  aware  of  ex- 
ternal noise  and  movement  which  brought  him  instantly, 
almost  painfully,  broad  awake. 

For  a  quite  appreciable  length  of  time,  while  he  sat  up- 
right in  the  warm  darkness,  Tom  failed  either  to  locate 
the  noise  which  had  thus  roused  him,  or  to  interpret  its 
meaning.  It  appeared  to  him  to  start  at  the  river  fore- 
shore, pass  across  the  garden,  into  and  through  the  ground- 
floor  suite  of  rooms  and  corridor  which  Sir  Charles  had 
indicated  as  reserved  to  his  particular  use. — What  on 
earth  could  it  be?  What  did  it  remind  him  of? — Why, 
surely — with  a  start  of  incredulous  recognition — the  sound 
of  hoofs,  though  strangely  confused  and  muffled,  such  as 
a  mob  of  scared,  overdriven  horses  might  make,  floundering 
fetlock  deep  in  loose  sand. 

Alive  with  curiosity  he  sprang  out  of  bed,  groped  his  way 
across  to  the  window  and,  putting  up  the  blind,  leaned  out. 

A  coppery  waning  moon  hung  low  in  the  south-east, 
and  sent  a  pale  rusty  pathway  across  the  sea  to  where, 
behind  the  sand-bar,  rippling  waves  broke  in  soft  flash 
and  sparkle.  Its  light  was  not  strong  enough  to  quench 
that  of  the  stars  crowding  the  western  and  the  upper  sky. 
Tom  could  distinguish  the  black  mass  of  the  great  ilex 
trees  on  the  right.  Could  see  the  whole  extent  of  the  lawn, 
the  two  sentinel  cannon  and  pyramid  of  ammunition  set 
on  the  terrace  along  the  top  of  the  sea-wall.  And  nothing 
moved  there,  nothing  whatever.  The  outstretch  of  turf 
was  vacant,  empty;  bare — so  Tom  told  himself — as  the 


32  DEADHAM  HARD 

back  of  his  own  hand.  The  sounds  seemed  to  have  ceased 
now  that  sight  denied  them  visible  cause  of  existence ;  and 
he  began  to  wonder  whether  his  hearing  had  not  played 
him  false,  whether  the  whole  thing  was  not  pure  fancy, 
a  delusion  born  of  agitated  dreams. 

He  pushed  the  sash  up  as  far  as  it  would  go  and  leaned 
further  out  of  the  window.  The  luscious  scent  of  a  late 
flowering  species  of  lonercera,  trained  against  the  house 
wall,  saluted  his  nostrils,  along  with  a  fretid-sweet  reek  off 
the  mud-flats  of  the  Haven.  Away  in  the  village  a  dog 
yelped,  and  out  on  the  salt-marshes  water-fowl  gave  faint 
whistling  cries.  Then  all  settled  down  into  stillness,  save 
for  the  just  audible  chuckle  and  suck  of  the  river  as  the 
stream  met  the  inflowing  tide. 

The  stillness  pleased  him.  For  so  many  nights  to  come 
there  would  be  none  of  it ;  but  ceaselessly  the  drumming  of 
the  engines,  quiver  of  the  screw,  and  wash  of  the  water 
against  the  ship 's  side. — All  the  same  he  did  not  quite  like 
the  colour  of  the  moon  or  that  frayed  flattened  edge  of  it 
westward.  Why  is  there  always  something  a  trifle  menac- 
ing about  a  waning  moon  ?  He  did  not  like  the  smell  of  the 
mud-flats  either.  It  might  not  be  actually  unhealthy; 
but  it  suggested  a  certain  foulness.  He  yawned,  drew  back 
into  the  room,  and  straightening  himself  up,  stretched  his 
hands  above  his  head.  He  would  get  into  bed  again.  He 
was  dog-tired — yes,  most  distinctly  bed! 

Then  he  stopped  short,  listening,  hastily  knelt  down  by 
the  window  and  again  leaned  out.  For  once  more  he  heard 
horses  coming  up  from  the  shore,  across  the  garden,  into 
and  through  the  house,  hustling  and  trampling  one  another 
as  they  shied  away  from  the  whip. — There  were  laggards 
too — one  stumbled,  rolled  over  in  the  sand,  got  on  its  feet 
after  a  nasty  struggle,  and  tottered  onward  dead  lame. 
Another  fell  in  its  tracks  and  lay  there  foundered,  rattling 
in  the  throat. 

The  sounds  were  so  descriptive,  so  explicit  and  the  im- 
pression produced  on  Tom  Verity's  mind  so  vivid  that, 
carried  away  by  indignation,  he  found  himself  saying  out 
loud: 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  TAMARISKS          33 

"  Curse  them,  the  brutes,  the  cowardly  brutes,  mis- 
handling their  cattle  like  that!  They  " 

And  he  stopped  confounded,  as  it  came  home  to  him  that 
throughout  the  course  of  this  cruel  drama  he  had  seen 
nothing,  literally  nothing,  though  he  had  heard  so  con- 
vincingly much.  A  shiver  ran  down  his  spine  and  he 
broke  into  a  sweat,  for  he  knew  beyond  question  or  doubt 
not  so  much  as  a  shadow, — let  alone  anything  material — 
had  breasted  the  sea-wall,  passed  over  the  smooth  level 
turf,  or  entered — how  should  it? — the  house. 

The  garden  lay  outspread  before  him,  calm,  uninvaded 
by  any  alien  being,  man  or  animal.  The  great  ilex  trees 
were  immobile,  fixed  as  the  eternal  stars  overhead.  And 
he  shrank  in  swift  protest,  almost  in  terror,  being  called 
on  thus  to  face  things  apparently  super-normal,  forces  un- 
explored and  uncharted,  defying  reason,  giving  the  lie 
to  ordinary  experience  and  ordinary  belief.  Reality  and 
hallucination  jostled  one  another  in  his  thought,  a  giant 
note  of  interrogation  written  against  each.  For  which  was 
the  true  and  which  the  false?  Of  necessity  he  distrusted 
the  evidence  of  his  own  senses,  finding  sight  and  hearing 
in  direct  conflict  thus. 

The  two  or  three  minutes  that  followed  were  among  the 
most  profoundly  disagreeable  Tom  ever  had  spent.  But  at 
last,  a  door  opened  below,  letting  forth  a  shaft  of  mellow 
lamplight.  It  touched  the  flower-beds  on  the  left  edging 
the  lawn,  giving  the  geraniums  form  and  colour,  laying 
down  a  delicate  carpet  of  green,  transmuting  black  into 
glowing  scarlet.  Tall  and  spare  in  his  grey  and  white 
sleeping-suit,  Sir  Charles  Verity  sauntered  out,  and  stood, 
smoking,  looking  out  to  sea. 

Earlier  that  night,  downstairs  in  the  sitting-room,  he 
seemed  a  storm  centre,  generating  much  perplexity  and 
disquiet.  But  now  Tom  welcomed  his  advent  with  a  sense 
of  almost  absurd  satisfaction.  To  see  what  was  solidly, 
incontrovertibly,  human  could  not  but  be,  in  itself,  a 
mighty  relief. — Things  began  to  swing  into  their  natural 
relation,  man,  living  man,  the  centre,  the  dominant  factor 
once  more.  He,  Tom,  could  now  shift  all  responsibility, 


34  DEADHAM  HARD 

moreover.  If  the  master  of  the  house  was  on  guard,  he 
might  wash  his  hands  of  these  hateful  ghostly  goings  on 
— if  ghostly  they  were — leaving  the  whole  matter  to  one  far 
stronger  and  more  competent  than  himself. 

"Whereupon  he  went  back  to  bed;  and  slept  profoundly, 
royally,  until  Hordle  the  manservant,  moving  about  the 
bright  chintz  bedecked  room,  preparing  his  bath  and  laying 
out  his  clothes,  awoke  him  to  the  sweetness  of  another 
summer  day. 


CHAPTER  V 

BETWEEN   RIVER    AND    SEA 

"T  "E  T  E  had  a  grand  talk  last  night — Sir  Charles  was 

\\  in  splendid  form.  I  enjoyed  it  down  to  the 
ground." 

Tom  Verity  lay,  at  full  length  on  the  upward  sloping, 
sun-warmed  bank  of  sand  and  shingle.  Only  to  youth  is 
given  enjoyment  of  perfect  laziness  joined  with  perfect 
physical  vigour.  Just  because  he  felt  equal  to  vaulting  the 
moon  or  long-jumping  an  entire  continent,  should  such 
prodigious  feats  be  required  of  him,  could  he  lie  thus  in 
glorious  idleness  letting  the  earth  cradle  and  the  sun  soak 
into  him.  Doubts  and  disturbances  of  last  night  melted 
in  daylight  to  an  almost  ludicrous  nothingness  and  self- 
confidence  reigned ;  so  that  he  declared  the  world  a  super- 
excellent  place,  snapping  his  fingers  at  problems  and 
mysteries.  A  spark  of  curiosity  pricked  him  still,  it  is 
true,  concerning  the  origin  of  certain  undeniably  queer 
aural  phenomena.  He  meant  to  satisfy  that  curiosity 
presently;  but  the  subject  must  be  approached  with  tact. 
He  must  wait  on  opportunity. 

A  few  paces  from  and  above  him,  Damaris  sat  on  the 
crown  of  the  ridge,  where  the  light  southerly  wind,  coming 
up  now  and  again  off  the  sea,  fanned  her.  A  white  knitted 
jersey,  pulled  on  over  her  linen  dress,  moulded'  the  curve 
of  her  back,  the  round  of  her  breasts  and  turn  of  her  waist, 
showing  each  movement  of  her  gracious  young  body  to  the 
hips,  as  she  leaned  forward,  her  knees  drawn  up  and  her 
feet  planted  among  the  red,  orange,  and  cream-grey  flints 
and  pebbles. 

Looking  up  at  her,  Tom  saw  her  face  foreshortened  in  the 
shade  of  her  broad  brimmed  garden  hat,  a  soft  clear  flush 
on  it  born  of  health,  fresh  air  and  sunlight,  her  eyes 

35 


36  DEADHAM  HARD 

shining,  the  blue  of  the  open  sea  in  their  luminous  depths. 
He  received  a  new  impression  of  her.  She  belonged  to  the 
morning,  formed  part  of  the  gladness  of  universal  Nature, 
an  unfettered  nymph-like  being.  To-day  her  mood  was 
sprightly,  bidding  farewell  to  ceremony.  Yet,  he  felt,  she 
remained  perplexing,  because  more  detached  than  is  the 
feminine  habit,  poised  and  complete  in  herself. 

And  this  detachment,  this  suppression  of  the  sentimental 
or  social  note — he  being  admittedly  a  very  personable  fel- 
low— piqued  Tom's  male  vanity,  so  that  he  rallied  her 
with: 

"  But  by  the  way,  why  did  you  vanish  so  early,  why 
didn't  you  stay  with  us  after  dinner  last  night?  ': 

"  I  did  not  want  to  vanish, "  she  answered.  "  Nothing  is 
more  delightful  than  hearing  my  father  talk.  But  had  I 
stayed  Miss  Bilson  would  have  supposed  herself  free  to 
stay  too,  and  that  would  have  spoiled  the  evening.  My 
father  doesn't  choose  to  talk  freely  before  Miss  Bilson, 
because  she  gets  into  a  foolish  excited  state  and  interrupts 
and  asks  questions.  She  overflows  with  admiration  and 
that  annoys  and  bores  him." 

"  '  She  brought  him  butter  in  a  lordly  dish,'  "  Tom 
quoted.  "  The  ill-advised  Bilson.  Can't  one  just  see 
her!  " 

"  And  it  is  not  her  place  to  admire  out  loud,"  Damaris 
continued.  "  Over  and  over  again  I  have  tried  to  explain 
that  to  her.  But  in  some  ways,  she  is  not  at  all  clever. 
She  can 't  or  won 't  understand,  and  only  tells  Aunt  Felicia 
I  am  wanting  in  sympathy  and  that  I  hurt  her  feelings. 
She  has  unreasonably  many  feelings,  I  think,  and  they  are 
so  easily  hurt.  I  always  know  when  the  hurting  takes 
place  because  she  sniffs  and  then  plays  Mendelssohn's 
Songs  without  Words  on  the  schoolroom  piano." 

Tom  chuckled.  She  had  a  caustic  tongue  on  occasion, 
this  nymph-like  creature! 

"  Alas,  poor  Bilson!  "  he  said.  "  For,  as  Sir  Charles 
walked  across  the  garden  with  us  down  to  the  ferry,  didn  't 
I  hear  those  same  sugary  melodies  tinkling  out  of  some 
upper  open  window?  " 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  TAMARISKS          37 

"  I  am  afraid  you  did.  You  see  she  had  made  up  her 
mind  to  come  with  me." 

"  And  you  were  forced  to  intimate  you  found  yourself 
quite  equal  to  conducting  the  expedition  unshepherded  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  be  unkind,  but  she  would  have  been 
so  dreadfully  in  the  way  " 

Damaris  gathered  up  a  handful  of  little  pebbles,  and  let 
them  dribble  down  slowly  between  her  outspread  fingers 
while,  turning  her  head,  she  gazed  away  out  to  sea. 

' '  This  is  a  day  by  itself, ' '  she  said.  ' '  It  looks  like  jewels, 
topazes,  turquoise,  and  pearls;  and  it  seems  full  of  things 
which  half  tell  themselves,  and  then  hide  from  or  pass  you 
by. — I  wanted  to  watch  it  all  and  think;  and,  she  doesn't 
do  it  on  purpose  I  know,  but  somehow  Miss  Bilson  always 
interferes  with  my  thinking." 

Both  the  tone  and  substance  of  this  discourse  proved 
slightly  startling  to  its  hearer.  They  carried  the  conversa- 
tion into  regions  transcendental ;  and  to  his  blissful  laziness, 
the  rarefied  air  of  those  regions  was  unwelcome.  To  breathe 
it  demanded  exertion.  So  he  said,  chaffingly: 

"  Do  I  interfere  with  your  thinking  ?  I  hope  not.  But  if 
I  offend  that  way,  speak  but  a  word  and  I  disappear  like 
a  shot." 

"Oh!  no,"  she  answered.  "  How  could  you  interfere? 
You  are  part  of  it.  You  started  it,  you  see,  because  you 
are  going  to  India." 

Whereat,  failing  to  catch  the  sequence  of  ideas,  male 
vanity  plumed  itself,  tickled  to  the  point  of  amusement. 
For  was  not  she  a  child  after  all,  transparently  simple  and 
candid,  and  very  much  a  woman-child  at  that !  Tom  turn- 
ing on  his  side  raised  himself  on  one  elbow,  smiling  at  her 
with  easy  good-nature. 

"  How  charming  of  you  to  adopt  me  as  a  special  object 
of  thought,  and  care  so  much  about  my  going." 

But  patronage  proved  short-lived.  The  girl's  colour 
deepened,  but  her  eyes  dwelt  on  him  coldly. 

"  I  have  only  been  thinking  how  fortunate  you  are, 
and  seeing  pictures  in  my  mind  of  what  you  will  see 
which  will  be  new  to  you — and — and  remembering." 


38  DEADHAM  HARD 

"Oh!  of  course,  I  am  lucky,  tremendously  lucky,"  he 
hastened  to  declare,  laughing  a  little  wryly.  "  Such  a 
journey  is  a  liberal  education  in  itself,  knocking  the  in- 
sularity out  of  a  man — if  he  has  any  receptive  faculty  that 
is — and  ridding  him  of  all  manner  of  stodgy  prejudices. 
I  don't  the  least  undervalue  my  good  fortune. — But  you 
talk  of  remembering.  That's  stretching  a  point  surely. 
You  must  have  been  a  mere  baby,  my  dear  Damaris,  when 
you  left  India." 

"  No,  I  was  six  years  old,  and  I  remember  quite  well. 
All  my  caring  for  people,  all  my  thinking,  begins  there,  in 
the  palace  of  the  Sultan-i-bagh  at  Bhutpur  and  the  great 
compound,  when  my  father  was  Chief  Commissioner." 

Her  snub  duly  delivered,  and  she  secure  it  had  gone 
home,  Damaris  unbent,  graciously  communicative  as  never 
before. 

"  It  was  all  so  beautiful  and  safe  there  inside  the  high 
walls,  and  yet  a  teeny  bit  frightening  because  you  knew 
there  were  other  things — as  there  are  to-day — which  you 
felt  but  couldn't  quite  see  all  about  you.  Sometimes  they 
nearly  pushed  through — I  was  always  expecting  and  I  like 
to  expect.  It  hurt  me  dreadfully  to  go  away;  but  I  had 
been  very  ill.  They  were  afraid  I  should  die  and  so  Dr. 
McCabe — he  was  here  when  you  arrived  yesterday — in- 
sisted on  my  being  sent  to  Europe.  A  lady — Mrs.  Pereira 
— and  my  nurse  Sarah  Watson  took  me  to  Paris,  to  the 
convent  school  where  I  was  to  be  educated.  It  was  all 
very  strange,  but  the  nuns  were  kind.  I  liked  their  re- 
ligion, and  I  got  accustomed  to  the  other  little  girls.  I 
had  rooms  of  my  own;  and  French  friends  of  my  father's 
visited  me  and  took  me  out  on  half-holidays.  And  Aunt 
Felicia  came  over  to  fetch  me  for  the  summer  vacations 
and  brought  me  here  " 

Damaris  pointed  across  the  tide-way  to  the  river  front- 
age, including  with  one  sweeping  gesture  the  whole 
demesne  of  The  Hard  from  the  deep  lane  on  the  one  hand, 
opening  funnel-like  upon  the  shore,  past  sea-wall—topped 
at  the  corner  by  pink  plumed  tamarisk,  the  small  twin 
cannons  and  pyramid  of  ball — the  lawn  and  irregular  white 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  TAMARISKS          39 

house  overlooking  it,  backed  and  flanked  by  rich  growth 
of  trees,  to  a  strip  of  sandy  warren  and  pine  scrub  on  the 
other,  from  out  which  a  line  of  some  half-dozen  purple 
stemmed,  red  branched  Scotch  firs,  along  with  the  grey 
stone  built  Inn  and  tarred  wooden1  cottages  on  the  prom- 
ontory beyond,  showed  through  a  dancing  shimmer  of 
heat  haze,  against  the  land-locked,  blue  and  silver  waters 
of  Marychurch  Haven. 

"  I  did  not  like  being  here  at  all  at  first,"  she  told  him. 
"  I  thought  it  a  mean  place  only  fit  for  quite  poor  people 
to  live  in.  The  house  seemed  so  pinched  and  naked  with- 
out any  galleries  or  verandahs.  And  I  was  afraid  because 
we  had  so  few  servants  and  neither  door-keepers  or  soldiers. 
I  could  not  believe  that  in  England  there  is  so  little  need 
for  protection  against  disaffected  persons  and  thieves. 
The  sunshine  was  pale  and  thin,  and  the  dusk  made  me  sad. 
At  Bhutpur  the  sun  used  to  drop  in  flame  behind  the 
edge  of  the  world  and  night  leap  on  you.  But  here  the 
day  took  so  long  dying.  Aunt  Felicia  used  to  praise  what 
she  called  '  the  long  sweet  English  twilight,'  and  try  to 
make  me  stop  out  in  the  garden  to  enjoy  it  with  her.  But 
I  could  not  bear  it.  The  colours  faded  so  slowly.  It  seemed 
like  watching  some  helpless  creature  bleed  to  death  silently, 
growing  greyer  minute  by  minute  and  feebler.  I  did  not 
want  to  watch,  but  go  indoors  where  the  lamps  were  lighted 
and  it  was  warm  and  cosy.  I  used  to  cry  dreadfully,  when 
I  could  get  away  by  myself  where  Aunt  Felicia  and  the 
maids  could  not  see  me,  cry  for  my  father — he  resigned 
the  Commissionership,  you  know,  when  I  was  sent  home 
and  took  service  in.  Afghanistan  under  the  Ameer — and 
for  my  darling  friend,  Mrs.  Pereira,  and  for  the  Sultan-i- 
bagh,,  where  I  knew  strangers  lived  now.  For  the  lotus 
tank  and  orange  grove,  and  all  my  little  tame  animals  and 
my  pretty  play-places  I  should  never,  never  see  any 
more  " 

Overcome  .by  which  intimate  memories,  Damans'  grave 
voice — which  had  taken  on  a  chanting  cadence,  at  once 
novel  and  singularly  pleasing  to  the  young  man's  ear — 
quavered  and  broke. 


40  DEADHAM  HARD 

' '  Poor  little  exiled  princess !  "  he  cried,  all  his  facile 
kindness  to  the  fore  again.  "  Yes,  it  must  have  been 
cruelly  hard  on  you.  You  must  have  suffered.  No  wonder 
you  cried — cried  buckets  full." 

And  drawn  by  pity  for  that  desolate,  tropic-bred  little 
child,  Tom  got  on  to  his  feet  and  crunched  up  the  loose 
shingle  to  the  crest  of  the  ridge,  full  of  a  lively  desire  to 
pacify  and  console.  But  here  the  soft  breeze  met  and 
caressed  him,  and  the  whole  plain  of  the  tranquil  sea  came 
into  view — turquoise  shot  with  pearl,  as  Damaris  recently 
figured  it,  and  fringed  with  topaz  where  waves,  a  few 
inches  high  and  clear  as  glass,  broke  on  the  yellow  sand 
at  the  back  of  the  Bar  just  below. 

"  How  wonderfully  lovely!  "  he  exclaimed,  carried  out 
of  himself  by  the  extreme  fairness  of  the  scene.  And,  his 
hands  in  his  trouser  pockets  he  stood  staring,  while  once 
again  the  pull  of  home,  of  England,  of  tenderness  for  all 
that  which  he  was  about  to  leave,  dimmed  his  eyes  and 
raised  a  lump  in  his  throat. 

"  Upon  my  word,  you  must  be  difficult  to  please  if  this 
place  doesn't  please  you  or  come  up  to  your  requirements, 
Damaris,"  he  said,  presently  sitting  down  beside  her. 
"  No  Arabian  Nights  palace  in  Asia,  I  grant  you;  yet  in 
its  own  humbler  and — dare  I  say? — less  showy,  manner  not 
easy  to  beat.  Breathe  this  enchanting  air.  See  the 
heavenly  tints  with  which  our  good  dirty  useful  old  Chan- 
nel has  adorned  itself.  Can  you  ask  for  more,  you  in- 
satiable person,  in  the  way  of  beauty?  " 

Then,  slightly  ashamed  of  his  outburst,  Tom  practised  a 
delightful  smile,  at  once  sentimental  and  flirtatious. 

"  No,  on  second  thoughts,  my  dear  princess,  I  keep  my 
commiseration  for  my  wretched  self — every  crumb  of  it. 
For  I  am  the  lonely  exile — that  is,  I  am  just  about  to  be 
— not  you.  Be  advised,  don't  quarrel  with  the  good  gifts 
of  the  gods.  Deadham  Hard  is  frankly  entrancing.  How 
willingly  would  I  put  off  taking  ship  for  your  vaunted 
India,  and  spend  the  unending  cycles  of  eternity  here — 
with  you,  well  understood — in  this  most  delectable  spot 
instead." 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  TAMARISKS          41 

Whereupon  Damaris,  with  mingled  gravity  and  haste, 
her  head  bent,  so  that  hat-crown  and  hat-brim  were  pre- 
sented to  the  young  man's  observation  rather  than  her 
face,  proceeded  to  explain  she  had  spoken  not  of  the  present 
but  of  the  past.  From  the  time  Sir  Charles  returned  to 
inhabit  it,  The  Hard  was  transformed;  his  presence  con- 
ferring interest  and  dignity  upon  it,  rendering  it  a  not 
unworthy  dwelling-place  indeed — should  any  such  happen 
that  way — for  sages,  conquerors,  or  even  kings.  He  cared 
for  the  little  property,  a  fact  to  her  all  sufficient.  For  him 
it  held  the  charm  of  old  associations.  The  pleasantest  days 
of  his  boyhood  were- spent  here  with  Thomas  Clarkson 
Verity,  his  great  uncle — who  eventually  left  him  the 
property — nor  had  he  ever  failed  later  to  visit  it  when 
home  on  leave.  In  pious  remembrance  of  that  distant  era 
and  of  his  entertaining  and  affectionate,  if  somewhat  ec- 
centric, host  and  friend  he  forbade  any  alteration  in  the 
house  or  grounds.  It  continued  to-day  just  as  old  Mr. 
Verity  left  it.  There  was  no  break,  even  in  details  of 
furnishing  or  arrangement,  with  the  past.  This,  to  Sir 
Charles,  added  to  the  natural  restfulness  of  the  place. 
Now  after  the  great  achievements  and  responsibilities  of 
his  Eastern  career  he  found  retirement  congenial.  The 
soft  equable  climate  benefited  his  health.  Rough  shooting 
and  good  fishing  could  be  had  in  plenty — stag-hunting,  too, 
in  Arnewood  Forest,  when  he  inclined  to  such  sport.  The 
Hard  was  sufficiently  easy  of  access  from  town  for  friends 
to  come  and  stay  with  him.  Convenient  for  crossing  to  the 
Continent  too,  when  he  took  his  yearly  cure  at  Aix 
or  at  Vichy,  or  went  south  for  a  couple  of  months,  as 
last  winter  for  instance,  to  Cette,  Montpelier  and  across, 
by  Pau,  to  the  Atlantic  seaboard  at  St.  Sebastian,  Biarritz, 
and  Bayonne. 

"  When  my  father  travels  I  go  with  him,''  Damaris  said, 
raising  her  head  and  looking  at  the  young  man  with  proud, 
deliberate  eyes.  "  We  both  suffered  too  much,  we  must 
never  be  separated  again.  And  when  we  go  abroad,  we 
go  alone.  There  is  no  one  to  give  advice  or  interfere.  We 
only  take  Hordle,  to  pack  and  look  after  the  baggage.  We 


42  DEADHAM  HARD 

are  always  together,  and  I  am  always  happy.  I  wish  we 
could  live  like  that  always,  with  no  settled  home.  But 
after  a  while,  my  father  grows  tired  of  hotels.  He  begins 
to  wish  for  the  quiet  of  The  Hard,  and  all  the  things  he 
is  accustomed  to.  And  then,  naturally,  I  begin  to  wish  for 
it  too." 

From  which  statement,  made  as  he  judged  with  intention, 
Tom  apprehended  an  attachment  of  no  common  order  exist- 
ing between  these  two  persons,  father  and  child.  If,  as 
family  gossip  disapprovingly  hinted,  the  affection  given 
appeared  to  trench  on  exaggeration,  the  affection  returned 
was  of  kindred  quality,  fervid,  self-realized,  absorbing,  and 
absorbed.  Comparing  it  with  his  own  humorously  tolerant 
filial  attitude,  Tom  felt  at  once  contrite  and  injured.  The 
contrast  was  glaring.  But  then,  as  he  hastened  to  add — 
though  whether  in  extenuation  of  his  own,  or  of  his 
father's,  shortcomings  remained  open  to  question — wasn't 
the  contrast  between  the  slightly  pompous,  slightly  bow- 
windowed,  provincial,  Tory  cleric  and  this  spare,  in- 
scrutable soldier  and  ruler,  glaring  likewise?  To  demand 
that  the  one  should  either  experience  or  inspire  the  same 
emotions  as  the  other  was  palpably  absurd!  Hence  (com- 
fortable conclusion!)  neither  he,  Tom,  nor  the  Archdeacon 
was  really  to  blame. — Only,  as  he  further  argued,  once  the 
absurdity  of  that  same  demand  admitted,  were  you  not 
free  to  talk  of  exaggeration,  or  of  the  "  grand  manner," 
as  you  chose  ?  Were  not  the  terms  interchangeable,  if  you 
kept  an  open  mind?  His  personal  acquaintance  with  the 
"  grand  manner  "  in  respect  of  the  affections,  with  heroi- 
cal  love,  amounted,  save  in  literature,  to  practically 
nothing;  yet  instinctively  he  applied  those  high  sounding 
phrases  to  the  attachment  ^xisting  between  Damaris  and 
her  father.  Both  as  discovery  and,  in  some  sort,  as  chal- 
lenge to  his  own  preconceived  ideas  and  methods  this  gave 
him  food  for  serious  thought. 

He  made  no  attempt  at  comment  or  answer ;  but  sat  silent 
beside  the  girl,  bare-headed  in  the  soft  wind  and  sunlight, 
between  the  flowing  river  and  tranquil  sea. 

The  "  grand  manner  " — that  was  how,  naturally,  with- 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  TAMARISKS          43 

out  posing  or  bombast,  these  two  persons  envisaged  life  for 
good  or  evil — for  this  last,  too,  might  be  possible ! — shaped 
their  purposes  and  conduct.  Sir  Charles,  he  knew,  had 
played  for  big  stakes.  Damaris,  he  felt  intuitively,  young 
though  she  was,  played  and  would  play  for  them  likewise. 
He  looked  at  her  with  awakened  speculation,  awakened 
curiosity.  "What,  he  wondered,  would  come  of  it.  Did 
it  make  her  attractive  or  the  reverse  ?  Really  he  wasn  't  at 
all  sure.  Whereat  he  grew  restive,  the  claims  of  inherent 
masculine  superiority,  let  alone  those  of  public  school,  uni- 
versity and  an  honourable  profession,  asserting  themselves. 
He  began  to  question  whether  this  young  lady  did  not  take 
up  an  undue  amount  of  room,  thus  cramping  him  and 
denying  his  powers  of  conversation  suitable  opportunity  of 
display.  Was  not  it  about  time  gently  to  reduce  her,  rele- 
gate her  to  a  more  modest  position?  To  achieve  which 
laudable  result — he  acted,  of  course,  for  her  good  ex- 
clusively— he  prepared  to  broach  the  subject  of  the  un- 
accountable noises  which  disturbed  his  rest  last  night. 
He  would  cross-examine  her  as  to  their  origin,  thereby 
teasing  and  perhaps  even  discountenancing  her  some- 
what. 

But  before  Tom  could  put  his  benevolent  scheme  into 
execution,  his  attention  was  unexpectedly  diverted,  a  quite 
new  element  projecting  itself  upon  the  scene. 

For  some  little  while  an  open  boat,  a  hoary  though  still 
seaworthy  tub  of  a  thing,  deep  in  draught  and  broad  in  the 
beam,  loaded  up  with  lobster-pots — the  skeleton  ribs  of 
them  black  against  the  surrounding  expanse  of  shining 
turquoise  and  pearl — had  slowly  neared  the  Bar  from  sea- 
ward. The  bows,  in  which  a  small,  withered  old  man  bent 
double  over  the  oars,  cocked  up  on  end.  The  stern,  where 
a  young  man  stood  erect  among  the  lobster-pots,  was  low 
in  the  water.  Now,  as  the  nose  of  the  boat  grounded,  the 
young  man  clambered  along  the  gunwale,  and  balancing 
for  a  minute,  tall  and  straight,  on  the  prow,  took  a  flying 
leap  across  the  wide  intervening  space  of  breaking  wave 
and  clear  water,  alighting  on  his  feet,  upon  the  firm  sand 
beyond. 


44  DEADHAM  HARD 

' '  Good  for  him !  Neatly  done, ' '  Tom  Verity  murmured, 
appreciating  the  grace  and  vigour  of  the  action. 

The  young  man,  meanwhile,  turning,  called  to  the  rower: 

"  Thank  you  heartily  for  putting  me  ashore,  Daddy 
Proud.  I'll  go  across  home  by  the  ferry.  But  see  here, 
can  you  manage  her  by  yourself  or  shall  I  help  shove  her 
off  for  you?  " 

"  Lord  love  'ee,  I  can  manage  her  sure  enough,"  the 
other  called  back  shrilly  and  a  trifle  truculently.  "I 
knows  'er  ways  and  she  knows  her  master — ought  to  by 
now,v  the  old  strumpet,  if  years  count  for  anythink.  So 
don't  'ee  go  wetting  yer  dandy  shoes  for  the  likes  of  her 
and  me,  Cap 'en." 

And  keckling  with  thin  wheezy  laughter  he  straightened 
his  back,  and,  planting  one  oar  in  the  sand,  set  the  boat 
afloat  again  skilfully. 


CHAPTER  VI 

IN  WHICH  THE  PAST  LAYS  AN  OMINOUS  HAND  ON  THE  PRESENT 

DOWN  here  on  the  shore,  in  the  serene  morning 
atmosphere,  voices  carried  with  peculiar  distinctness. 
Every  word  of  the  brief  colloquy  had  reached  Tom 
Verity;  and  one  word  at  least  possessed  an  Elizabethan 
flavour  forbidden  to  ears  Victorian,  feminine  and  polite. 
Noting  it  Tom  reddened  and  glanced  uneasily  at  his  com- 
panion, all  inclination  to  tease  giving  place  to  a  laudable 
desire  to  shield  her  from  annoyance.  But  Damaris,  judg- 
ing by  her  demeanour,  was  unaware  of  any  cause  of  of- 
fence ;  whence,  with  relief  he  concluded  that  either  she  had 
not  heard,  or  that  the  rank  expression  conveyed  nothing 
intelligible  to  her  mind. 

Her  open  hand  pressed  down  upon  the  rough  surface 
of  the  pebbles,  she  leaned  a  little  backward,  her  lithe  body 
twisted  sideways  from  the  waist,  while  she  scrutinized  the 
man  upon  the  sands  below.  And  that  the  latter  presented 
a  gallant  and  even  distinguished  appearance,  though  ar- 
rayed in  leather-peaked  cap,  blue  serge  reefer  jacket  and 
trousers  which  had  evidently  seen  service,  Tom  could  not 
but  admit,  as  he  stood  just  clear  of  the  ripples  of  incom- 
ing tide  staring  idly  after  the  receding  boat  with  its  cargo 
of  black  ribbed  skeleton  lobster-pots. — A  spirited-looking, 
well-made  fellow,  no  doubt;  merchant  captain  or  more 
probably  mate — Tom  took  him  to  be  about  eight-and- 
twenty — but  in  an  altogether  different  rank  of  life  to 
themselves  and  therefore  a  quite  unsuitable  object  for 
prolonged  and  earnest  attention.  His  advent  should  be 
treated  as  an  accident,  not  elevated  thus  to  the  importance 
of  an  event.  It  was  not  quite  good  taste  on  Damaris'  part 
Tom  felt ;  and  he  made  a  show  of  rising,  saying  as  he  did 
so,  by  way  of  excuse : 

45 


46  DEADHAM  HARD 

"It  is  wonderfully  charming  out  here.  I  am  loath  to 
break  up  our  little  tete-a-tete;  but  time  waits  for  no  man, 
worse  luck,  and  if  I  am  to  catch  my  train  I  must  start 
directly  after  luncheon.  Sir  Charles  was  good  enough  to 
promise  me  various  letters  of  introduction  to  persons  in 
high  places.  He  told  me  to  remind  him  about  them.  I 
don't  want  to  be  greedy  but  I  should  like  those  letters. 
Perhaps  I  ought  to  be  getting  back  so  as  to  see  your  father 
about  them." 

But  before  Damaris  had  time  to  collect  her  thoughts  and 
reply,  the  man  in  the  peaked  cap  had  further  asserted  his 
presence.  Either  becoming  conscious  of  her  observation, 
or  caught  by  something  in  Tom  Verity's  speech,  he  wheeled 
round  and  looked  up  at  the  two  in  swift,  almost  haughty, 
enquiry.  To  Tom  he  vouchsafed  little  more  than  a  glance, 
but  upon  Damaris  his  eyes  fastened.  For  a  good  minute  he 
stared  at  her,  as  though  in  some  sort  holding  her  to  ran- 
Bom.  Then  with  an  upward  jerk  of  the  head  and  an  ejacu- 
lation, half  smothered  oath,  half  sharp  laughter — as  of  one 
who  registers  eminently  ironic  conclusions — he  began  de- 
liberately ascending  the  slope. 

Tom  Verity,  though  possessed  of  plentiful  cheekiness 
towards  the  majority  of  his  elders  and  betters,  was  no  fire- 
eater.  He  preferred  diplomacy  to  war ;  and  would  adroitly 
evade  rather  than  invite  anything  approaching  a  scene, 
specially  in  the  presence  of  a  woman.  Yet  under  existing 
circumstances  retreat  had  become,  as  he  perceived,  not  only 
undignified  but  useless.  So  in  his  best  Oxford  manner — a 
manner  ornate,  at  that  period,  and  quite  crushingly  su- 
perior— he  raised  his  shoulders,  smiled  faintly,  resignedly, 
and  disposed  himself  in  an  easier  attitude,  saying: 

"  Better  wait,  perhaps,  my  dear  Damaris.  I  would 
sooner  risk  losing  those  precious  letters  than  acquire  a 
possible  escort  for  you — and  for  myself — down  to  the  river 
and  across  the  ferry." 

And  he  threw  a  meaning  glance  over  his  shoulder,  in- 
dicating the  obtrusive  stranger. 

So  doing  he  received  a  disturbing  impression.  For  seen 
thus,  at  close  quarters,  not  only  was  the  said  stranger 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  TAMARISKS          4T 

notably,  even  astonishingly  good-looking,  but  he  bore  an 
arresting   likeness   in    build,    in    carriage,    in   expression 

Tom  paused  perplexed,  racking  his  brains. — For  who,  the 
deuce,  was  it?  Where  had  he  seen,  and  that  as  he  could 
have  sworn  quite  recently,  this  same  forceful  countenance 
lit  by  russet-grey  eyes  at  once  dauntless  and  sad,  deep-set, 
well  apart,  the  lids  of  them  smooth  and  delicately  moulded  ? 
The  man's  skin  was  tanned,  by  exposure,  to  a  tint  but  a 
few  shades  lighter  than  that  of  his  gold-brown  beard — a 
beard  scrupulously  groomed,  trimmed  to  a  nicety  and  by 
no  means  deforming  the  lower  part  of  the  face  since  the 
line  of  jaw  and  chin  remained  clearly  discernible. 

Tom  turned  away  and  looked  absently  at  The  Hard  in 
its  broad  reposeful  frame  of  lawn  and  trees.  The  coor 
green  foliage  of  a  bank  of  hydrangeas — running  from  the 
great  ilexes  to  the  corner  of  the  house — thick-set  with  discs 
of  misty  pink  and  blue  blossom  took  his  fancy,  as  contrast 
to  the  beds  of  scarlet  and  crimson  geranium  flaming  in 
the  sun.  But  below  any  superficial  sense  of  pleasure  in 
outward  things,  thought  of  that  likeness — and  likeness, 
dash  it  all,  to  whom  ? — still  vexed  him  as  a  riddle  he  failed 
to  guess.  Obligation  to  guess  it,  to  find  the  right  answer, 
obsessed  him  as  of  vital  interest  and  importance,  though, 
for  the  life  of  him,  he  could  not  tell  why.  His  sense  of 
proportion,  his  social  sense,  his  self-complacency,  grew 
restive  under  the  pressure  of  it.  He  told  himself  it  wasn't 
of  the  smallest  consequence,  didn't  matter  a  fig,  yet  con- 
tinued to  cudgel  his  memory.  And,  all  the  while,  the  sound 
of  deliberate  footsteps  crunching  over  the  dry  rattling 
shingle,  nearer  and  nearer,  contributed  to  increase  his 
inward  perturbation. 

The  footsteps  halted  close  behind  him — while  for  a  sensi- 
ble length  of  time  a  shadow  lay  across  him  shutting  off  the 
genial  warmth — and  started  again,  passing  to  the  left,  as 
the  intruder  traversed  the  crown  of  the  ridge  a  few  paces 
from  where  Damaris  was  seated,  and  pursued  his  way  down 
to  the  river-shore  on  the  other  side. 

"  At  last — I  thank  you!  "  Tom  broke  out  impatiently. 


48  DEADHAM  HARD 

He  felt  incomprehensibly  nervous ;  and  angry  with  him- 
self for  so  feeling. 

"  Commend  me  to  our  friend  for  taking  his  time  about 
things,  and  incidentally  wasting  ours — yours  and  mine,  I 
mean !  What  on  earth  did  he  want  ?  He  certainly  treated 
us  to  a  sufficiently  comprehensive  inspection.  Well,  I  hope 
he  was  satisfied.  By  the  same  token,  have  you  any  con- 
ception who  the  fellow  is?  " 

Damaris  shook  her  head.  She,  too,  appeared  perturbed. 
Her  eyebrows  were  drawn  into  a  little  frown  and  her  ex- 
pression was  perplexed  to  the  point  of  childlike  dis- 
tress. 

"  Not  any,"  she  answered  simply.  "  Some  one  staying 
at  Faircloth's  Inn  possibly.  People  come  there  from  Mary- 
church  to  spend  the  day  during  the  summer.  Old  Timothy 
Proud,  the  lobster-catcher,  who  brought  him  round  in  his 
boat,  lives  at  one  of  the  cottages  close  to  the  Inn.  No, ' '  she 
repeated,  "  I  have  no  conception  who  he  is,  and  yet  his 
face  seemed  familiar.  I  had  a  feeling  that  I  knew  him 
quite  well — had  seen  him  often,  oh!  very  often  before." 

"  Ah!  then  you  were  pu2zled  by  some  mysterious  like- 
ness,"— Tom  began  eagerly,  smiling  at  her.  And  stopped 
short,  open-mouthed,  assailed  by  so  apparently  preposterous 
a  recognition  that  for  the  minute  it  left  him  fairly  speech- 
less. 

But  Damaris,  busy  with  her  own  sensations,  her  glance 
still  following  the  blue-clad  figure  along  the  shore  and  out 
on  to  the  tumble-down  wooden  jetty,  failed  to  remark  his 
embarrassment  and  thus  gave  him  time  to  recover  his 
scattered  wits. 

"  Jennifer  is  bringing  the  ferry-boat  across,"  she  said 
presently,  "  so  you  won't  have  to  wait  much  longer.  Not 
that  you  need  be  at  all  anxious  about  those  letters.  It  is 
not  my  father's  habit  to  forget  a  promise.  Most  likely 
they  were  written  last  night  before  he  went  to  bed.  He 
sleeps  badly,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  and  is  glad  to  cheat  the 
wakeful  hours  by  reading  and  doing  his  correspondence 
-until  late." 

As  she  spoke  the  young  girl  rose  to  her  feet,  pulling  the 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  TAMARISKS          49 

close-fitting  jersey  down  over  her  hips  and,  stooping, 
dusted  particles  of  sand  off  the  hem  of  her  dress. 

"  There — that's  better.  Now  I  am  tidy.  Shall  we  go 
home,  cousin  Tom?  "  she  asked. 

Her  eyes  shone  with  inward  excitement  and  she  carried 
her  head  proudly,  but  her  face  was  white.  And  he,  sensible 
that  she  had  suddenly  hardened  towards  him  and  strove, 
he  could  not  divine  why,  to  keep  him  at  arm's  length, 
turned  perversely  teasing  again.  He  would  not  await  a 
more  convenient  season.  Here  and  now  he  would  satisfy 
his  curiosity — and  at  her  expense — regarding  one  at  least 
of  the  queer  riddles  Deadham  Hard  had  sprung  on  him. 

"  I  did  not  know  your  father  suffered  from  sleepless- 
ness," he  said.  "  It  must  be  horribly  trying  and  depress- 
ing. I  am  glad,  in  a  way,  you  have  told  me,  because  it  may 
account  for  my  seeing  him  go  out  into  the  garden  from  the 
study  last  night,  or  rather  very  early  this  morning.  It 
would  be  about  two  o'clock.  I  put  down  his  appearance 
to  another  cause,  and  " 

He  smiled  at  her,  delightfully  ingratiating,  assuagingly 
apologetic. 

"  Shall  I  own  it? — one  which,  frankly,  struck  me  as  a 
little  upsetting  and  the  reverse  of  pleasant." 

"  Weren't  you  comfortable?  I  am  so  sorry,"  Damaris 
exclaimed,  instincts  of  hospitality  instantly  militant. 
"  What  was  wrong?  You,  should  have  called  someone — 
rung  for  Hordle.  What  was  it?  " 

"  No — no — my  dear  Damaris,  don't  vex  yourself  I  en- 
treat you.  I  was  in  clover,  luxuriously  comfortable. 
You've  allotted  me  a  fascinating  room  and  perfect  dream 
of  a  bed.  I  feel  an  ungrateful  wretch  for  so  much  as 
mentioning  this  matter  to  you  after  the  way  in  which  you 
have  indulged  me.  Only  something  rather  extraordinary 
really  did  happen,  of  which  I  honestly  confess  I  am  still 
expiring  to  find  a  reasonable  and  not  too  humiliating  ex- 
planation. For,  though  I  blush  to  own  it  " 

He  laughed  softly,  humping  up  his  shoulders  after  the 
manner  of  a  naughty  small  boy  dodging  a  well-merited  box 
on  the  ear. 


50  DEADHAM  HARD 

"  Yes,  I  blush  to  own  it,  but  I  was  frightened,  down- 
right frightened.  I  quailed  and  I  quaked.  The  sight  of 
Sir  Charles  stepping  out  of  the  study  window  filled  me  with 
abject  rapture.  Metaphorically  speaking,  my  craven  soul 
squirmed  at  his  heels.  He  was  to  me  as  a  strong  tower  and 
house  of  defence. — But  look  here,  Damaris,  joking  apart, 
tell  me  weren't  you  disturbed,  didn't  you  hear  any  strange 
noises  last  night?  " 

"  No,  none."  She  hesitated,  then  with  evident  reluc- 
tance— "  I  sleep  in  the  new  wing  of  the  house." 

"  Which  you  imply,  might  make  a  difference?  "  Tom 
asked. 

"  The  older  servants  would  tell  you  that  it  does." 

"  And  you  agree  with  them?  " 

Damaris  had  a  moment  of  defective  courage. 

"  I  would  rather  not  discuss  the  subject,  cousin  Tom," 
she  said  and  moved  away  down  over  the  shifting  shin- 
gle. 

At  first  her  progress  was  sober,  even  stately.  But  soon, 
either  from  the  steep,  insecure  nature  of  the  ground  or 
from  less  obvious  and  material  cause,  her  pace  quickened 
until  it  became  a  run.  She  ran  neatly,  deftly,  all  of  a 
piece  as  a  boy  runs,  no  trace  of  disarray  or  feminine 
floundering  in  her  action.  More  than  ever,  indeed,  did  she 
appear  a  fine  nymph-like  creature;  so  that,  watching  her 
flight  Tom  Verity  was  touched  alike  with  self-reproach 
and  admiration.  For  he  had  succeeded  in  asserting  him- 
self beyond  his  intention.  Had  overcome,  had  worsted  her ; 
yet,  as  it  occurred  to  him,  won  a  but  barren  victory.  That 
she  was  alienated  and  resentful  he  could  hardly  doubt, 
while  the  riddle  he  had  rather  meanly  used  to  procure 
her  discomfiture  remained  unanswered  as  ever,  dipped 
indeed  only  deeper  in  mystery.  He  was  hoist  with  his  own 
petard,  in  short;  and  stood  there  nonplussed,  vexed  alike 
at  himself  and  at  circumstance. 

A  soft  wind,  meanwhile,  caressed  him,  as  hesitating, 
uncertain  what  to  do  next,  he  glanced  out  over  the  smiling 
sea  and  then  back  at  the  delicate  shore  line,  the  white 
house,  the  huge  evergreen  trees  and  brilliant  flower  garden. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  TAMARISKS          51 

A  glamour  covered  the  scene.  It  was  lovely,  intimately, 
radiantly  lovely  as  he  had  lately  declared  it.  Yet  just 
now  he  grew  distrustful,  as  though  its  fair  seeming  cloaked 
some  subtle  trickery  and  deceit.  He  began  to  wish  he  had 
not  undertaken  this  expedition  to  Deadham;  but  gone 
straight  from  the  normal,  solidly  engrained  philistinism 
of  dear  old  Canton  Magna  to  join,  his  ship.  In  coming 
here  he  had,  to  put  it  vulgarly,  bitten  off  more  than  he 
could  chew.  For  the  place  and  its  inhabitants  seemed  to 
have  a  disintegrating  effect  on  him.  Never  in  all  his  life 
had  he  been  such  a  prey  to  exterior  influences,  been  twisted 
and  turned  to  and  fro,  weather-cock  fashion,  thus.  It  was 
absurd,  of  course,  to  take  things  too  seriously,  yet  he 
could  not  but  fear  the  Archdeacon's  well-intentioned  bit 
of  worldliness  and  his  own  disposition  to  court  whatever 
family  prejudice  pronounced  taboo,  were  in  process  of 
leading  him  a  very  questionable  little  dance. 

Reaction,  however,  set  in  before  long,  as  with  so  lively, 
light-hearted  a  temperament,  it  was  bound  to  do,  the 
healthy  scepticism,  healthy  optimism  of  untried  three-and- 
twenty  rising  to  the  surface  buoyant  as  a  cork. 

Tom. Verity  shook  himself,  took  off  his  hat,  smoothed 
his  hair,  settled  his  tie,  hitched  up  the  waist  of  his  trousers, 
stamping  to  get  them  into  place,  laughed  a  little,  calling 
himself  every  sort  of  silly  ass,  and  then  swung  away  down 
the  side  of  the  long  ridge  in  pursuit  of  Damaris.  He 
acknowledged  his  treatment  of  her  had  been  lacking  in 
chivalry.  He  hadn't  shown  himself  altogether  considerate 
or  even  kind.  But  she  challenged  him — perhaps  uncon- 
sciously— and  once  or  twice  had  come  near  making  him  feel 
small. — Oh!  there  were  excuses  for  his  behaviour!  Now 
however  he  would  sail  on  another  tack.  Would  placate, 
discreetly  cherish  her  until  she  couldn't  but  be  softened 
and  consent  to  make  it  up.  After  all  maidens  of  her  still 
tender  age  are  not  precisely  adamant— such  at  least  was 
his  experience — where  a  personable  youth  is  concerned. 
It  only  needed  a  trifle  of  refined  cajolery  to  make  every- 
thing smooth  and  to  bring  her  round. 

He  overtook  the  fugitive  as  she  reached  the  low  wooden 


52  DEADHAM  HARD 

jetty  crawling,  like  some  giant  but  rather  dilapidated 
black  many-legged  insect,  out  over  the  stream.  Its  rows 
of  solidly  driven  piles  were  intact,  but  the  staging  they 
supported  had  suffered  damage  from  the  rush  of  river 
floods,  let  alone  from  neglect  and  age.  Handrails  were 
broken  down,  planks  rotted  and  wrenched  away  leaving 
gaps  through  which  the  cloudy  greenish  blue  water  could 
be  seen  as  it  purred  and  chuckled  beneath.  Here,  at  the 
river  level,  it  wasi  hot  to  the  point  of  sultriness,  the  air 
heavy,  even  stagnant,  since  the  Bar  shut  off  the  southerly 
breeze. 

"  Upon  my  word  one  requires  to  be  in  training  to  race 
you,  my  dear  Damaris,"  the  young  man  said  gaily,  osten- 
tatiously mopping  his  forehead.  "  And  I'm  disgracefully 
soft  just  now,  I  know.  You  beat  me-  utterly  and 
ignominiously ;  but  then  you  did  have  a  good  three  minutes' 
start.  In  common  honesty  you  can 't  deny  that  ' ' 

The  girl  made  no  response,  but  began  mounting  the  few 
sand-strewn  steps  on  to  the  jetty.  He  saw  her  face  in 
profile,  the  delicate  upward  curve  of  her  long  dark  eye- 
lashes in  the  shade  of  her  hat.  Saw,  too,  that  her  soft 
lips  quivered  as  with  the  effort  to  repress  an  outburst  of 
tears.  And  this  affected  him  as  the  wounding  of  some 
strong  free  creature  might,  stirring  his  blood  in  a  fashion 
new  to  him  and  strange.  For  not  only  did  he  find  it 
piteous ;  but  unseemly,  impermissible  somehow,  yet  marvel- 
lously sweet,  startling  him  out  of  all  preconceived  light 
diplomatic  plans,  plucking  shrewdly  at  his  complacently 
unawakened  heart. 

He  came  close  to  her,  and  putting  his  hand  under  her 
elbow  gently  held  it. 

"  Pray,  pray  be  careful,"  he  said.  "  I  don't  trust  this 
crazy  little  pier  of  yours  one  atom.  Any  one  of  these 
boards  looks  capable  of  crumbling  and  letting  one  through. 
— And,  Damaris,  please  don't  be  cross  with  me  or  I  shall 
be  quite  miserable.  Forgive  my  having  asked  you  stupid 
questions.  I  was  a  blundering  idiot.  Of  course,  what  I 
heard  last  night  was  just  some  echo,  some  trick  of  wind 
or  of  the  river  and  tide.  I  was  half  asleep  and  imagined 


53 

the  whole  thing  most  likely,  magnified  sounds  as  one  does, 
don't  you  know,  sometimes  at  night.  Your  father  talked 
wonderfully,  and  I  went  to  bed  dazzled,  such  imagination 
as  I  possess  all  aflame  " 

But  Damaris  shook  her  head,  while  her  elbow  rested 
rigid  upon  the  palm  of  his  hand. 

"  No — what  you  heard  was  real,"  she  answered.  "  I 
heard  once  myself — and  the  people  here  know  about  it. 
They  say  the  dead  smugglers  still  drive  their  ponies  up 
from  the  beach,  across  the  lawn  where  the  old  road  was, 
and,  as  it  sounds,  through  the  round  rooms  downstairs,  in 
which  my  father  lives,  on  their  way  up  into  the  forest. — 
You  cannot  help  seeing — although  you  see  nothing — how 
the  ponies  are  ill-used,  hounded  and  flogged.  The  last  of 
the  drove  are  lame  and  utterly  worn  out.  They  stumble 
along  anyhow  and  one  falls.  Oh !  it  is  cruel,  wicked.  And 
it  is — was,  really  true,  cousin  Tom.  It  must  have  hap- 
pened scores  of  times  before  old  Mr.  Verity,  your  name- 
sake, put  a  stop  to  the  iniquity  by  buying  The  Hard — 
I  have  only  heard  the  ponies  driven  once,  about  this  time 
in  September  last  year — just  before  something  very  sad, 
quite  of  my  own,  happened  " 

Damaris  stopped,  her  lips  quivering  again  and  too  much 
for  speech. 

"  Don't  tell  me  any  more.  I  can't  bear  you  to  be  dis- 
tressed. Pray,  pray  don't  " — the  young  man  urged  in- 
coherently while  his  grasp  on  her  elbow  tightened  some- 
what. 

For  he  felt  curiously  flurried  and  put  about ;  near  curs- 
ing himself  moreover  for  having  helped  to  break  up  her 
high  serenity  thus.  The  whole  thing  was  manifestly  im- 
possible as  he  told  himself,  outside  every  recognized  law 
of  Nature  and  sound  science.  Even  during  the  mistrust- 
ful phantasy-breeding  watches  of  the  night,  when  reason 
inclines  to  drag  anchor  setting  mind  and  soul  rather  wildly 
adrift,  he  had  refused  credence  to  the  apparent  evidence 
of  his  own  senses.  Now  in  broad  daylight,  the  generous 
sunshine  flooding  him,  the  smooth  river  purring  and  glit- 
tering at  his  feet,  belief  in  grim  and  ghostly  happenings 


54  DEADHAM  HARD 

became  more  than  ever  inadmissible,  not  to  say  quite  ar- 
rantly  grotesque.  Yet  Damaris'  version  of  those  same 
happenings  tallied  with  his  own  in  every  point.  And  that 
her  conviction  of  their  reality  was  genuine,  profound  in- 
deed to  the  point  of  pain,  admitted  neither  of  question  nor 
of  doubt 


CHAPTER  VII 

A  CRITIC  IN  CORDUROY 

WILLIAM  JENNIFER,  who  successfully  combined 
in  his  single  person  the  varied  offices  of  ferryman, 
rat-catcher,    jobbing    gardener,    amateur    barber, 
mender  of   sails   and   of  nets,    brought  the   heavy,   flat- 
bottomed  boat   alongside  the  jetty.     Shipping  the   long 
sweeps,  he  coughed  behind  his  hand  with  somewhat  sepul- 
chral politeness  to  give  warning  of  his  presence. 

"  Sweethearting — lost  to  sight  and  hearing,  espoused  to 
f orgetf ulness, "  he  murmured,  peering  up  at  the  two  cousins 
standing  in  such  close  proximity  to  one  another  upon  the 
black  staging  above. 

For  William  Jennifer  was  a  born  lover  of  words  and 
maker  of  phrases,  addicted  to  the  bandying  of  pleasantries, 
nicely  seasoned  to  their  respective  age,  sex  and  rank,  with 
all  he  met ;  and,  when  denied  an  audience,  rather  than  keep 
silence  holding  conversation  with  himself. 

The  hot  morning  induced  thirst,  which,  being  allayed  by 
a  couple  of  pints  at  Faircloth's  Inn,  induced  desire  for  a 
certain  easiness  of  costume.  His  waistcoat  hung  open — 
he  had  laid  aside  his  coat — displaying  a  broad  stitched 
leather  belt  that  covered  the  junction  between  buff  cordu- 
roy trousers  and  blue-checked  cotton  shirt.  On  his  head, 
a  high  thimble-crowned  straw  hat,  the  frayed  brim  of  it 
pulled  out  into  a  poke  in  front  for  the  better  shelter  of 
small,  pale  twinkling  eyes  set  in  a  foxy  face. 

The  said  face,  however — for  all  its  sharp-pointed  nose, 
long  upper  lip,  thin  gossipy  mouth,  tucked  in  at  the  corners 
and  opening,  redly  cavernous,  without  any  showing  of  teeth, 
a  stiff  sandy  fringe  edging  cheeks  and  chin  from  ear  to 
ear — could  on  occasion  become  utterly  blank  of  expression. 
It  became  so  now,  as  Tom  Verity,  realizing  the  fact  of  its 

55 


56  DEADHAM  HARD 

owner's  neighbourhood,  moved  a  step  or  two  away  from 
Damaris  and,  jumping  on  board  himself,  proceeded 
with  rather  studied  courtesy  to  hand  her  down  into  the 
boat. 

"  Looks  as  there  might  have  been  a  bit  of  a  tiff  betwixt 
'em  " — Thus  Jennifer  inwardly.  Then  aloud — "  Put  you 
straight  across  the  ferry,  sir,  or  take  you  to  the  breakwater 
at  The  Hard?  The  tide's  on  the  turn,  so  we'd  slip  down 
along  easy  and  I'm  thinking  that  'ud  spare  Miss  Verity 
the  traipse  over  the  shore  path.  Wonnerful  parching  in 
the  sun  it  is  for  the  latter  end  of  September." 

"  Oh!  to  the  breakwater  by  all  means,"  Tom  answered 
with  alacrity. 

For  reaction  had  set  in.  Not  only  was  the  young  man 
still  slightly  flustered,  but  vexed  by  the  liveliness  of  his 
own  emotions.  Everything  to-day  savoured  of  exaggera- 
tion. The  most  ordinary  incidents  distended,  inflated 
themselves  in  a  really  unaccountable  manner.  So  that, 
frankly,  he  fought  shy  of  finding  himself  alone  with 
Damaris  again.  She  seemed  so  constantly  to  betray  him 
into  ill-regulated  feeling,  ill-considered  speech  and  action, 
which  tended  to  endanger  the  completeness  of  his  self- 
esteem.  Therefore,  although  admitting  his  attitude  to  be 
scantily  heroic,  he  welcomed  the  prospect  of  the  ferryman's 
chaperonage  until  such  time  as  her  father  or  her  discarded 
lady-in-waiting,  the  innocent  and  pink-nosed  Bilson,  should 
effect  his  final  deliverance. 

"  Yes,  it  is  uncommonly  hot,"  he  repeated,  while,  with 
both  arms  extended,  he  worked  to  keep  the  side  of  the  boat 
from  bumping  against  the  range  of  piles,  backing  it  clear 
of  the  jetty  into  the  fairway  of  the  river.  He  found  exer- 
tion pleasant,  steadying. 

* '  Neither  Miss  Verity  nor  I  shall  be  sorry  to  be  saved  the 
walk  along  that  basting  path.  That  is, ' '  he  added,  smiling 
with  disarming  good-temper,  "  if  we're  not  blocking  busi- 
ness and  keeping  you  too  long  away  from  the  ferry." 

But  Jennifer,  mightily  pleased  at  his  company  and  hav- 
ing, moreover,  certain  scandalous  little  fishes  of  his  own 
to  fry — or  attempt  to  fry — waved  the  objection  aside. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  TAMARISKS          57 

The  ferry  could  very  well  mind  itself  for  a  while,  he 
said ;  and  if  anyone  should  come  along  they  must  just  hold 
hands  with  patience  till  he  got  back,  that  was  all.  But 
passengers  were  few  and  far  between  this  time  of  year  and 
of  day.  The  "  season  " — as  was  the  new-fangled  fashion 
to  call  it — being  now  over;  trippers  tripped  home  again 
to  wheresoever  their  natural  habitat  might  be.  The  activi- 
ties of  boys'  schools,  picnic  parties,  ambulant  scientific 
societies  and  field-clubs — out  in  pursuit  of  weeds,  of  stone- 
cracking,  and  the  desecration  of  those  old  heathen  burying 
barrows  on  Stone  Horse  Head  quieted  off  for  the  time 
being.  Deadham,  meanwhile,  in  act  of  repossessing  its 
soul  in  peace  and  hibernating  according  to  time-honoured 
habit  until  the  vernal  equinox. 

Not  that  he,  Jennifer,  as  he  explained,  owned  to  any 
quarrel  with  the  alien  invasion.  Good  for  trade  they  were, 
that  tripper  lot,  though  wonnerful  simple,  he  must  say, 
when  they  came  to  talk,  blessed  with  an  almighty  wide 
swallow  for  any  long-eared  fairy  tale  you  liked  to  put  on 
them.  Mortal  full  of  senseless  questions,  too,  fit  to  make 
anybody  laugh! — Whereat  overcome  by  joyous  memories 
of  human  folly,  he  opened  the  red  cavern  of  his  apparently 
toothless  mouth,  barking  up  audible  mirth,  brief  and 
husky,  from  the  depth  of  a  beer-slaked  throat. 

He  leaned  forward  while  speaking,  resting  chest  and 
elbows  on  the  oars — only  now  and  again  dipping  the  blades 
in  the  water  to  steady  the  boat  in  its  course  as  it  moved 
smoothly  onward  borne  by  brimming  stream  and  tide. 
From  out  the  shadow  of  his  thimble-crowned  hat  he  looked 
up  knowingly,  with  the  freemasonry  of  assured  good- 
temper  at  Tom,  who  stood  before  him  hands  in  pockets, 
friendly  and  debonair,  class  distinctions  for  the  moment 
quite  forgot.  For,  let  alone  immediate  convenience  of 
chaperonage,  the  young  man  found  unexpected  entertain- 
ment in  this  typical  South  Saxon,  relic,  as  it  struck  him, 
of  a  bygone  age  and  social  order.  Might  not  that  tough 
and  somewhat  clumsy  body,  that  crafty,  jovial,  yet  non- 
committal countenance,  have  transferred  themselves  straight 
from  the  pages  of  Geoffrey  Chaucer  into  nineteenth-century 


58  DEADHAM  HARD 

life?  Here,  was  a  master  of  primitive  knowledge  and  of 
arts  not  taught  in  modern  Board  (or  any  other)  Schools; 
a  merry  fellow  too,  who  could,  as  Tom  divined,  when  com- 
pany and  circumstances  allowed,  be  broadly,  unprintably 
humorous. 

So,  in  this  last  connection  perhaps,  it  was  just  as  well 
that  Damaris  still  appeared  somewhat  implacable.  Coming 
on  board  she  had  passed  Jennifer — who  rowed  amidships 
— and  gone  right  forward,  putting  as  wide  a  distance  as 
conditions  permitted  between  her  cousin  and  herself.  Now, 
as  she  sat  on  a  pile  of  red-brown  seine  nets  in  the  bow  of 
the  boat,  she  kept  her  face  averted,  looking  away  down  the 
cool  liquid  highway,  and  presenting  to  his  observation  a 
graceful,  white-clad  but  eminently  discouraging  back. 
Her  attitude  repelled  rather  than  invited  advances,  so  at 
least  Tom,  watching  her,  certainly  thought.  This  justified 
his  not  following  her  but  staying  where  he  was,  and  leaving 
her  to  herself.  Whereupon  annoyance  again  beset  him; 
for  it  was  very  little  to  his  credit  to  have  mismanaged  his 
dealings  with  her  and  alienated  her  sympathies  thus.  With 
her,  it  was  very  evident,  he  had  not  been  at  all  a  success. 
And  it  pricked  his  young  vanity  very  shrewdly  not  to  be 
a  success. 

From  these  unsatisfactory  reflections  William  Jennifer's 
voice,  prefaced  by  a  warning  cough,  recalled  him. 

"  Making  any  long  stay  in  these  parts,  sir?  ;'  he  en- 
quired. 

And  when  Tom  explained  that  a  few  hours  from  now 
would  witness  the  termination  of  his  visit,  and  that,  in  all 
probability,  many  years  of  absence  from  England  lay 
ahead — - 

"  Indeed,  indeed,  to  be  sure.  Who'd  have  thought  it  for 
a  young  gentleman  of  the  quality  like  yourself!  But, 
there,  some  are  born  under  the  traveller's  star,  sir — created 
with  a  roving  spirit.  And  the  Lord  help  'em,  I  say,  for 
they're  so  made  as  to  be  powerless  to  help  themselves 
seemingly.  Rove  they  must  and  will,  if  they  are  to  taste 
any  contentment — an  itch  in  their  feet  from  the  cradle 
nought  but  foreign  lands  '11  serve  to  pacify.  The  sight  of 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  TAMARISKS          59 

the  ocean  now,  seems  fairly  tormenting  to  'em  till  they  can 
satisfy  themselves  of  what's  on  the  far  side  of  it." 

But,  here,  the  boat  being  unduly  drawn  aside  by  the 
suck  of  some  local  current,  Jennifer  was  constrained  to 
apply  his  mind  to  navigation.  He  dipped  the  long  sweeps, 
and  with  a  steady  powerful  pull  straightened  the  course 
to  midstream.  Then  raising  the  glistening  blades,  off 
which  the  water  dripped  white  and  pattering,  he  leaned 
forward  again,  resting  elbows  and  chest  on  the  butt-end  of 
the  oars,  and  once  more  addressed  himself  to  polite  con- 
versation. 

"  Not  as  I've  been  greatly  troubled  that  way  myself. 
Had  my  chance  of  going  to  sea  and  welcome  many's  the 
time  when  I  was  a  youngster.  But  always  a  one  for  the 
land,  I  was.  Never  had  any  special  fancy  for  salt  water, 
though  I  do  make  my  living  of  it  now,  as  you  may  say,  in 
a  sense." 

During  this  biographical  excursion  -  Tom  Verity's  at- 
tention wandered.  His  eyes  dwelt  on  Damaris.  She  had 
altered  her  position  turning  half  round  as  she  scanned  the 
strip  of  sandy  warren  with  its  row  of  sentinel  Scotch  firs 
bordering  the  river.  Seen  thus,  three-quarter  face,  Tom 
realized  suddenly  not  only  how  really  beautiful  she  was — 
or  rather  could  at  moments  be — but  how  strangely  she  re- 
sembled Sir  Charles  her  father.  There  was  likeness  not  of 
features  alone;  but,  for  all  her  youthful  freshness,  a  re- 
flection of  his  strength,  his  inscrutability.  Whereupon 
rather  unworthy  curiosity  reawoke  in  Tom  Verity,  to 
satisfy  which  he  was  tempted  to  descend  to  methods  not 
entirely  loyal. 

Damaris,  sitting  to  windward,  must  be  out  of  earshot 
assuredly,  yet  he  lowered  his  voice  as  he  said : 

"  By  the  way,  talking  of  going  to  sea,  can  you  tell  me 
anything  about  the  young  sailor  whom  you  took  across  the 
ferry  just  before  fetching  Miss  Verity  and  me?  I  am 
pretty  sure  I  have  met  him  before  and  yet  I  can't  place 
him  somehow." 

Jennifer  shot  a  sharply  enquiring  glance  at  the  speaker ; 
for  here,  at  first  sight,  appeared  rare  opportunity  of  that 


60  DEADHAM  HARD 

same  coveted  and  scandalous  fish-frying!  Yet  he  debated 
the  wisdom  of  immediate  indulgence  in  that  merry  pastime, 
inherent  suspicion  of  class  for  class,  suspicion  too,  of  this 
young  gentleman's  conspicuously  easy,  good-natured  man- 
ner, preaching  caution.  A  show  of  friendliness  supplies 
fine  cover  for  the  gaining  of  one's  own  ends. — Hadn't  he, 
Jennifer,  practised  the  friendly  manoeuvre  freely  enough 
himself  on  occasion?  And  he  did  not  in  the  least  relish 
the  chance  of  walking  into  a  trap,  instead  of  jovially  bait- 
ing one.  So  he  dipped  the  oars  again,  and  answered  slowly 
as  though  the  question  taxed  his  memory  sorely,  his  face 
vacant  of  expression  as  an  empty  plate. 

"  Brought  him  across  before  I  started  to  fetch  you  and 
the  young  lady,  sir,  did  I?  To  be  sure,  there,  let  me  see. 
I've  had  several  sea-going  chaps  of  sorts  back  and  forth 
this  morning.  Come  and  go  most  days,  they  do,  come  and 
go  without  my  taking  any  particular  account — the  Lord 
forgive  me,  for  it  ain't  over  civil — unless  strangers  should 
hail  me,  or  someone  out  of  the  common  such  as  Miss  Verity 
and  yourself.  A  passing  show,  sir,  half  the  time  those  I 
carry;  no  more  to  me,  bless  you,  than  so  many  sand-fleas 
a-hopping  on  the  beach. — Mr.  Blackmore — coastguard 
officer  he  is — I  fetched  him  across  early,  with  one  of  his 
men  coming  round  from  the  Head.  And  that  poor  lippity- 
lop,  Abram  Sclanders'  eldest. — Pity  he  wasn't  put  away 
quiet-like  at  birth! — Terrible  drag  he  is  on  Abram  and 
always  will  be.  Anybody  with  an  ounce  of  gumption 
might  have  seen  he'd  be  a  short-wit  from  the  first. — I  took 
him  over;  but  that  'ud  the  opposite  way  about,  as  he 
wanted  to  go  shrimping  back  of  the  Bar  so  he  said." 

Jennifer  paused  as  in  earnest  thought. 

"  No,  not  a  soul  to  merit  your  attention,  to-day,  sir, 
that  I  can  call  to  mind.  Unless  ' ' — with  an  upward  look 
of  returning  intelligence — "  but  that  ain't  very  likely 
either — unless  it  should  be  Darcy  Faircloth.  I'd  clean 
forgot  him,  so  I  had.  Cap 'en  Faircloth,  as  some  is  so 
busy  calling  'im,  now,  in  season  and  out  of  season  till  it 's 
fairly  fit  to  make  you  laugh. — Remarkable  tall,  Johnny- 
head-in-air  young  feller  with  a  curly  yaller  beard  to  him." 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  TAMARISKS          61 

"  That's  the  man!  "  Tom  exclaimed. 

He  had  distrusted  Jennifer's  show  of  ignorance,  believ- 
ing he  was  being  fenced  with,,  played  with,  even  royally 
lied  to ;  but  this  merely  served  to  heighten  his  curiosity  and 
amusement.  Something  of  moment  must  lie,  he  felt,  be- 
hind so  much  wandering  talk,  something  of  value,  pur- 
posely and  cunningly  withheld  until  time  was  ripe  for  tell- 
ing disclosure. 

"  Darcy  Faircloth — Captain  Faircloth?  "  he  could  not 
but  repeat,  and  with  such  honest  puzzlement  and  evident 
desire  for  further  enlightening  as  to  overcome  his  hearer 's 
hesitation. 

"  No — not  a  likely  person  for  you  to  be  in  any  wise 
acquainted  with,  sir,"  Jennifer  returned,  wary  still,  though 
yielding — "  even  if  you  didn't  happen  to  be  a  bit  new 
to  Deadham  yourself,  as  I  may  put  it.  For  been  away 
mostly  from  his  natural  home  here,  young  Faircloth  has, 
ever  since  he  was  a  little  shaver.  Mrs.  Faircloth — owns 
the  Inn  there  and  all  the  appurtenances  thereof,  sheds, 
cottages,  boats,  and  suchlike,  she  does — always  had  wonner- 
ful  high  views  for  him.  Quite  the  gentleman  Darcy  must 
be,  with  a  boarding  school  into  Southampton  and  then  the 
best  of  the  Merchant  Service — no  before  the  mast  for  him, 
bless  you.  There  was  a  snug  little  business  to  count  on, 
regular  takings  in  the  public,  week  in  and  week  out — more 
particularly  of  late  years  in  the  summer — let  alone  the 
rest  of  the  property — he  being  the  only  son  of  his  mother, 
too,  and  she  a  widow  woman  free  to  follow  any  whimsies  as 
took  her  about  the  lad." 

Jennifer  gave  some  slow,  strong  strokes,  driving  the 
lumbering  boat  forward  till  the  water  fairly  hissed  against 
its  sides.  And  Tom  Verity  still  listened,  strangely,  alertly 
interested,  convinced  there  was  more,  well  worth  hearing, 
to  follow. 

"  Oh!  there's  always  bin  a  tidy  lot  of  money  behind 
young  Darcy,  and  is  yet  I  reckon,  Mrs.  Faircloth  being  the 
first-class  business  woman  she  is.  Spend  she  may  with 
one  hand,  but  save,  and  make,  she  does  and  no  mistake, 
Lord  love  you,  with  the  other.  Singular  thing  though,'" 


62  DEADHAM  HARD 

he  added  meditatively,  his  face  growing  wholly  expression- 
less, "  how  little  Darcy,  now  he's  growed  up,  features  old 
Lemuel  his  father.  Squinny,  red-cheeked  little  old  party, 
he  was ;  thin  as  a  herring,  and  chilly,  always  chilly,  sitting 
pver  the  fire  in  the  bar-parlour  winter  and  summer  too — 
small  squeaky  voice  he  had  minding  any  one  of  a  penny 
whistle.  But  a  warm  man  and  a  close  one — oh!  very 
secret.  Anybody  must  breakfast  overnight  and  hurry  at 
that — eat  with  their  loins  girded,  as  you  may  say,  to  get 
upsides  with  old  Lemuel." 

He  ceased  speaking,  and  glanced  round  over  his 
shoulder  calculating  the  distance  to  the  breakwater,  for 
the  boat  drew  level  with  the  sea-wall  of  rough-hewn  pink- 
ish-grey granite  along  the  river  frontage  of  The  IJard 
gardens. 

"  There's  some  as  'ud  tell  you  it  was  the  surprise  of  old 
Lemuel's  life  to  find  himself  a  parent,"  he  added,  eyeing 
Tom  slyly  as  he  spoke,  his  mouth  remaining  open  as  in 
preparation  for  coming  laughter. 

For  those  same  scandalous  little  fishes  were  well  into 
the  frying-pan,  now — sizzling,  frizzling.  And  this  was  a 
vastly  agreeable  moment  to  William  Jennifer.,  worth  wait- 
ing for,  worth  scheming  for.  Unprintable  humour  looked 
out  of  his  twinkling  eyes  while  he  watched  to  see  how  far 
Tom  Verity  caught  his  meaning.  Then  as  the  young  man 
flushed,  sudden  distaste,  even  a  measure  of  shame  invading 
him,  Jennifer,  true  artist  in  scandal,  turned  the  conversa- 
tion aside  with  an  air  of  indulgent  apology. 

* '  But,  lor,  there,  you  know  how  people  '11  talk  in  a  little 
country  place  where  there  ain't  much  doing! — And  it  ain't 
for  me  to  speak  of  what  happened  back  in  those  times, 
being  barely  out  of  my  teens  then  and  away  cow-keeping 
over  Alton  way  for  Farmer  Whimsett.  Regular  chip  of  the 
old  block,  he  was.  Don't  breed  that  sort  nowadays.  As 
hearty  as  you  like,  and  swallered  his  three  pints  of  home- 
brewed every  morning  with  his  breakfast  he  did,  till  he 
was  took  off  quite  sudden  in  his  four-score-and-ten  twelve 
months  ago  come  Michaelmas." 

Upon  the  terrace,  by  the  pyramid  of  ball  and  the  two 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  TAMARISKS          63 

little  cannons,  Sir  Charles  Verity  stood,  holding  a  packet 
of  newly  written  letters  in  his  hand  and  smoking,  while  he 
watched  the  approaching  boat.  Damaris  rose  from  the  pile 
of  red-brown  fishing-nets  and  waved  to  him.  Jennifer, 
too,  glanced  up,  steadying  both  oars  with  one  hand  while 
he  raised  the  other  to  the  brim  of  his  thimble-crowned  hat, 
A  couple  of  minutes  more  and  he  would  part  company  with 
his  passenger,  and  so  judged  it  safe  to  indulge  himself  with 
a  final  fish-frying. 

"  Mortal  fine  figure  of  a  man,  Sir  Charles  even  yet,"  he 
said  to  Tom  admiringly.  ' '  But  anybody  should  have  seen 
him  as  a  young  gentleman.  When  he  used  to  visit  here  in 
old  Mr.  Verity's  time,  none  in  the  country-side  could  hold 
a  candle  to  him  for  looks,  as  you  may  say.  Turned  the 
females'  heads  he  did.  Might  have  had  his  pick  of  the 
lot,  maids  and  wives  alike  for  'arf  a  word.  Well,  good- 
bye to  you,  sir  " — and,  as  certain  coin  changed  hands — 
"  thank  ye,  sir,  kindly.  Wish  you  a  pleasant  voyage  and 
a  rare  good  picking  up  of  honours  and  glories,  and  gold 
and  silver  likewise,  there  across  the  seas  and  oceans  where 
you're  a-going  to." 


BOOK   II 

THE   HARD   SCHOOL  OF   THINGS 
AS   THEY   ARE 


CHAPTER  I 

IN    MAIDEN    MEDITATION 

IT  was  afternoon,  about  five  o'clock.  The  fine  Septem- 
ber weather,  hot  and  cloudless,  lasted  still.  The  air 
was  heavy  with  garden  scents,  the  aromatic  sweetness 
of  sunbaked  gorse  and  pine-scrub  on  the  warren,  and  with 
the  reek  off  the  mud-flats  of  the  Haven,  the  tide  being  low. 
Upon  the  sandy  skirts  of  the  Bar,  across  the  river  just 
opposite,  three  cormorants — glossy  black  against  the  yellow 
— postured  in  extravagant  angular  attitudes  drying  their 
wings.  Above  the  rim  of  the  silver-blue  sea — patched  with 
purple  stains  in  the  middle  distance — webs  of  steamer 
smoke  lay  along  the  southern  sky.  Occasionally  a  sound 
of  voices,  the  creak  of  a  wooden  windlass  and  grind  of  a 
boat's  keel  upon  the  pebbles  as  it  was  wound  slowly  up 
the  foreshore,  came  from  the  direction  of  the  ferry  and  of 
Faircloth's  Inn.  The  effect  was  languorous,  would,  have 
been  enervating  to  the  point  of  mental,  as  well  as  physical, 
inertia  had  not  the  posturing  cormorants  introduced  a 
note  of  absurdity  and  the  tainted  breath  of  the  mud-flats 
a  wholesome  reminder  of  original  sin. 

Under  these  conditions,  at  once  charming  and  insidious, 
Damaris  Verity,  resting  in  a  wicker  deck-chair  in  the 
shade  of  the  great  ilex  trees,  found  herself  alone,  free  to 
follow  her  own  vagrant  thoughts,  perceptions,  imaginations 
without  human  let  or  hindrance.  Free  to  dream  undis- 
turbed and  interrogate  both  Nature  and  her  own  much 
wondering  soul. 

For  Sir  Charles  was  away,  staying  with  an  old  friend 
and  former  brother-in-arms,  Colonel  Carteret,  for  a  week's 
partridge  shooting  over  the  Norfolk  stubble-fields.  Sport 
promised  to  be  good,  and  Damaris  had  great  faith  in 
Colonel  Carteret.  With  him  her  father  was  always 

67 


68  DEADHAM  HARD 

amused,  contented,  safe.  Hordle  was  in  attendance,  too, 
so  she  knew  his  comfort  in  small  material  matters  to  be 
secure.  She  could  think  of  him  without  any  shadow  of 
anxiety,  her  mind  for  once  at  rest.  And  this  she  enjoyed. 
For  it  is  possible  to  miss  a  person  badly,  long  for  their 
return  ardently,  yet  feel  by  no  means  averse  to  a  holiday 
from  more  active  expenditure  of  love  on  their  account. 

And  Theresa  Bilson — pleasing  thought! — was,  for  the 
moment,  absent  also,  having  gone  to  tea  with  the  Miss 
Minetts.  Two  maiden  ladies,  these,  of  uncertain,  age, 
modest  fortune  and  unimpeachable  refinement,  once  like 
Theresa  herself,  members  of  the  scholastic  profession;  but 
now,  thanks  to  the  timely  death  of  a  relative — with  conse- 
quent annuities  and  life  interest  in  a  ten-roomed,  stone- 
built  house  of  rather  mournful  aspect  in  Deadham  village 
— able  to  rest  from  their  ineffectual  labours,  support  the 
Church,  patronize  their  poorer  and  adulate  their  richer 
neighbours  to  their  guileless  hearts'  content. 

Gentility  exuded  from  the  Miss  Minetts,  and — if  it  is 
permissible  slightly  to  labour  the  simile — their  pores  were 
permanently  open.  Owing  both  to  her  antecedent  and 
existing  situation,  it  may  be  added,  Theresa  Bilson  was 
precious  in  their  sight.  For  had  she  not  in  the  past,  like 
themselves,  sounded  the  many  mortifications  of  a  governess' 
lot;  and  was  she  not  now  called  up  higher,  promoted  in- 
deed to  familiar,  almost  hourly,  intercourse  with  the  great? 
Miss  Felicia  Verity  was  known  to  treat  her  with  affec- 
tion. Mrs.  Augustus  Cowden,  that  true  blue  of  county 
dames  and  local  aristocrats,  openly  approved  her.  She 
sat  daily  at  Sir  Charles  Verity's  table  and  helped  to  order 
his  household.  What  more  genuine  patents  of  gentility 
could  be  asked?  So  they  listened  with  a  pleasure,  deep 
almost  to  agitation,  to  her  performances  upon  the  piano, 
her  reminiscences  of  Bonn  and  the  Rhine  Provinces,  and, 
above  all,  to  her  anecdotes  of  life  at  The  Hard  and  of  its 
distinguished  owner's  habits  and  speech.  Thus,  by  opera- 
tion of  the  fundamental  irony  resident  in  things,  did 
Theresa  Bilson,  of  all  improbable  and  inadequate  little 
people,  become  to  the  Miss  Minetts  as  a  messenger  of  the 


THE  HARD  SCHOOL  OF  THINGS  69 

gods;  exciting  in  them  not  only  dim  fluttering  apprehen- 
sions of  the  glories  of  art  and  delights  of  foreign  travel, 
but — though  in  their  determined  gentility  they  knew  it  not 
— of  the  primitive  allurements  and  mysteries  of  sex. 

The  moral  effect  of  this  friendship  upon  Theresa  her- 
self was  not,  however,  of  the  happiest.  Fired  by  their  in- 
terest in  her  recitals  she  was  tempted  to  spread  herself. 
At  first  almost  unconsciously,  for  by  instinct  she  was  truth- 
ful, she  embroidered  fact,  magnifying  her  office  not  only 
in  respect  of  her  ex-pupil  Damaris  but  of  Damaris'  father 
also.  She  represented  herself  as  indispensable  to  both 
parent  and  child,  until  she  more  than  half  believed  that 
flattering  fiction.  She  began  to  reckon  herself  an  essential 
element  in  the  establishment  at  The  Hard,  the  pivot  in- 
deed upon  which  it  turned.  Whereupon  a  rather  morbid 
craving  for  the  Miss  Minetts '  society  developed  in  her.  For, 
with  those  two  credulous  ladies  as  audience,  she  could 
fortify  herself  in  delusion  by  recounting  all  manner  of 
episodes  and  incidents  not  as  they  actually  had,  but  as  she 
so  ardently  desired  they  might  have,  taken  place. — A  pa- 
thetic form  of  lying  this,  though  far  from  uncommon  to 
feminine  and — more  especially — spinster  practice  and 
habit! 

Still  Theresa  was  not  so  besotted  but  that  lucid  intervals 
now  and  again  afflicted  her.  One  seized  her  this  afternoon, 
as  she  prepared  to  bid  Damaris  good-bye.  Either  con- 
science pricked  with  unusual  sharpness,  or  the  young  girl's 
smiling  and  unruffled  acquiescence  in  her  departure 
aroused  latent  alarms.  She  began  to  excuse  her  action  in 
leaving  her  charge  thus  solitary,  to  protest  her  devotion; 
becoming,  it  may  be  added,  red  and  agitated  in  the  process. 
Her  thick,  short  little  fingers  worked  nervously  on  the 
crook  handle  of  her  white  cotton  umbrella.  Her  round 
light-coloured  eyes  grew  humid  to  the  point  of  fogging 
the  lenses  of  her  gold-rimmed  glasses. 

"  But  why  should  you  worry  so  now,  just  as  you  are 
starting,  Billy?  "  Damaris  reasoned,  with  the  rather  cruel 
logic  of  cool  eighteen  in  face  of  hot  and  flustered  nine- 
and-thirty.  "  Only  at  luncheon  you  were  telling  me  how 


70  DEADHAM  HARD 

much  you  always  enjoy  spending  an  afternoon  at  the 
Grey  House.  I  thought  you  looked  forward  so  much  to 
going.  What  has  happened  to  turn  you  all  different,  like 
this,  at  the  last  minute  ?  ' ' 

' '  Nothing  has  happened  exactly ;  but  I  have  scruples 
about  visiting  my  own  friends  and  letting  you  remain  alone 
when  Sir  Charles  is  from  home.  It  might  appear  a  derelic- 
tion of  duty — as  though  I  took  advantage  of  his 
absence." 

"  Nobody  would  think  anything  so  foolish,"  Damaris 
declared.  "  And  then  you  knew  he  would  be  away  this 
week  when  you  made  the  engagement." 

Theresa  gulped  and  prevaricated. 

"  No,  surely  not — I  must  have  mistaken  the  date." 

"  But  you  were  quite  happy  at  luncheon,  and  you 
couldn't  have  mistaken  the  date  then,"  Damaris  persisted. 

Whereupon  poor  Theresa  lost  herself,  the  worthy  and 
unworthy  elements  in  her  nature  alike  conspiring  to  her 
undoing.  In  her  distraction  she  sniffed  audibly.  A  tear 
ran  down  either  side  of  her  pink  shiny  nose  and  dropped 
on  the  folds  of  shepherd 's-plaid  silk  veiling  her  plump 
bosom.  For,  with  some  obscure  purpose  of  living  up  to 
her  self-imposed  indispensability,  Miss  Bilson  was  dis- 
tinctly dressy  at  this  period,  wearing  her  best  summer 
gown  on  every  possible)  occasion  and  tucking  a  bunch  of 
roses  or  carnations  archly  in  her  waist-belt. 

"  Do  you  think  it  kind  to  insist  so  much  on  my  passing 
f orgetf ulness  ?  "  she  quavered.  "  The  habit  of  criticizing 
and  cavilling  at  whatever  I  say  grows  on  you,  Damaris, 
and  it  so  increases  the  difficulties  of  my  position.  I  know 
I  am  sensitive,  but  that  is  the  result  of  my  affection  for 
you.  I  care  so  deeply,  and  you  are  not  responsive.  You 
chill  me.  As  I  have  told  dear  Miss  Felicia — for  I  must 
sometimes  unburden  myself  " 

This  hastily,  as  Damaris'  eyes  darkened  with  displeasure. 

"  For  the  last  year,  ever  since  you  have  nominally 

been  out  of  the  schoolroom,  I  have  seen  my  influence  over 
you  lessen,  and  especially  since  poor  Mrs.  Watson's 
death  " 


THE  HARD  SCHOOL  OF  THINGS  71 

"  We  will  not  talk  about  Nannie,  please,"  Damaris  said 
quietly. 

"  Yes,  but — as  I  told,  your  Aunt  Felicia — since  then  I 
have  tried  more  than  ever  to  win  your  entire  confidence, 
to  make  up  to  you  for  the  loss  of  poor  Watson  and  fill  her 
place  with  you." 

"  No  one  else  can  ever  fill  the  place  of  the  person  one 
has  loved,"  Damaris  returned  indignantly.  "  It  isn't 
possible.  I  should  be  ashamed  to  let  it  be  possible.  Nannie 
was  Nannie — she  had  cared  for  me  all  my  life  and  I  had 
cared  for  her.  She  belongs  to  things  about  which 
you" 

And  there  the  girl  checked  herself,  aware  of  something 
almost  ludicrously  pitiful  in  the  smug  tearful  countenance 
and  stumpy  would-be  fashionable  figure.  Hit  a  man  your 
own  size,  or  bigger,  by  all  means  if  you  are  game  to  take 
the  consequences.  But  to  smite  a  creature  conspicuously 
your  inferior  in  fortune — past,  present,  and  prospective — 
is  unchivalrous,  not  to  say  downright  mean-spirited.  So 
Damaris,  swiftly  repentant,  put  her  arm  round  the  heaving 
shoulders,  bent  her  handsome  young  head  and  kissed  the 
uninvitingly  dabby  cheek — a  caress  surely  counting  to  her 
for  righteousness. 

"  Don't  find  fault  with  me  any  more,  Billy,"  she  said. 
"  Indeed  I  never  hurt  you  on  purpose.  But  there  are 
such  loads  of  things  to  think  about,  that  I  get  absorbed  in 
them  and  can't  attend  sometimes  directly  on  the  minute." 

"  Absent-mindedness  should  be  corrected  rather  than 
encouraged,"  Miss  Bilson  announced,  sententious  even 
amid  her  tears. 

"Oh!  it  amounts  to  more  than  absent-mindedness  I'm 
afraid — a  sort  of  absent-every-thingcdness  when  it  over- 
takes me.  For  the  whole  of  me  seems  to  go  away  and 
away,  hand  in  hand  and  all  together,"  Damaris  said,  her 
eyes  alight  with  questions  and  with  dreams.  "  But  don't 
let  ns  discuss  that  now,"  she  added.  "  It  would  waste 
time,  and  it  is  you  who  must  go  away  and  away,  Billy,  if 
you  are  not  to  put  the  poor  Miss  Minetts  into  a  frantic 
fuss  by  being  late  for  tea.  They  will  think  some  accident 


72  DEADHAM  HARD 

has  happened  to  you.  Don't  keep  them  in  suspense,  it  is 
simply  barbarous. — Good-bye,  and  don't  hurry  back.  I 
have  heaps  to  amuse  me.  I'll  not  expect  you  till  dinner- 
time." 

Thus  did  it  come  about  that  Damaris  reposed  in  a  deck 
chair,  under  the  shade  of  the  great  ilex  trees,  gazing  idly 
at  the  webs  of  steamer  smoke  hanging  low  in  the  southern 
sky,  at  the  long  yellow-grey  ridge  of  the  Bar  between  river 
and  sea,  and  at  the  cormorants  posturing  in  the  hot  after- 
noon sunshine  upon  the  sand. 

Truly  she  was  free  to  send  forth  her  soul  upon  whatever 
far  fantastic  journey  she  pleased.  But  souls  are  perverse, 
not  to  be  driven  at  will,  choosing  their  own  times  and 
seasons  for  travel.  And  hers,  just  now,  proved  obstinately 
home-staying — had  no  wings  wherewith  to  fly,  but  must 
needs  crawl  a-fourfoot,  around  all  manner  of  inglorious 
personal  matters.  For  that  skirmish  with  her  ex-gov- 
erness, though  she  successfully  bridled  her  tongue  and  con- 
quered by  kindness  rather  than  by  smiting,  had  clouded 
her  inward  serenity,  not  only  by  its  inherent  uselessness, 
but  by  reminding  her  indirectly  of  an  occurrence  which 
it  was  her  earnest  desire  to  forget. 

Indirectly,  mention  of  her  beloved  nurse,  Sarah  Watson 
— who  journeying  back  from  a  visit  to  her  native  Lan- 
cashire, just  this  time  last  year,  had  met  death  swift  and 
hideous  in  a  railway  collision — recalled  to  Damaris  the 
little  scene,  of  a  Tveek  ago,  with  Tom  Verity  when  he  had 
asked  her,  in  the  noonday  sunshine  out  on  the  Bar,  for 
some  explanation  of  his  strange  nocturnal  experience. 
She  went  hot  all  over  now,  with  exaggerated  childish 
shame,  thinking  of  it.  For  had  not  she,  Damaris  Verity, 
though  nurtured  in  the  creed  that  courage  is  the  source 
and  mother  of  all  virtues,  shown  the  white  feather,  in- 
continently turned  tail  and  run  away?  Remembrance  of 
that  running  scorched  her,  so  that  more  than  once,  awaken- 
ing suddenly  in  the  night,  her  fair,  young  body  was  dyed 
rose-red  with  the  disgrace  of  it  literally  from  head  to  heel. 
She  was  bitterly  humiliated  by  her  own  poltroonery,  in- 
genuously doubtful  as  to  whether  she  could  ever  quite 


THE  HARD  SCHOOL  OF  THINGS  73 

recover  her  Self-respect ;  glad  that  every  day  put  two 
hundred  miles  and  more  of  sea  between  her  and  Tom 
Verity,  since  he  had  witnessed  that  contemptible  fall  from 
grace. 

Nevertheless,  after  her  first  consternation — in  which,  to 
avoid  further  speech  with  him  she  had  sought  refuge 
among  the  unsavoury  seine  nets  in  the  fore-part  of 
Jennifer's  ferry-boat — Tom  Verity's  probable  opinion  of 
her  undignified  action  troubled  her  far  less  than  the  cause 
of  the  said  action  itself.  For  exactly  what,  after  all,  had 
so  upset  her,  begetting  imperative  necessity  of  escape? 
Not  the  apparent  confirmation  of  that  ugly  legend  concern- 
ing ghostly  ponies  driven  up  across  The  Hard  garden  from 
the  shore.  From  childhood,  owing  both  to  temperament 
and  local  influences',  her  apprehension  of  things  unseen 
and  super-normal  had  been  remarkably  acute.  From  the 
dawn  of  conscious  intelligence  these  had  formed  an  integral 
clement  in  the  atmosphere  of  her  life;  and  that  without 
functional  disturbance,  moral  or  physical,  of  a  neurotic 
sort.  She  felt  no  morbid  curiosity  about  such  matters, 
did  not  care  to  dwell  upon  or  talk  of  them. — Few  persons 
do  who,  being  sane  in  mind  and  body,  are  yet  endowed 
with  the  rather  questionable  blessing  of  the  Seer's  sixth 
sense. — For  while,  in  never  doubting  their  existence  her 
reason  acquiesced,  her  heart  turned  away,  oppressed  and 
disquieted,  as  from  other  mysterious  actualities  common 
enough  to  human  observation,  such  as  illness,  disease,  de- 
formity, old  age,  the  pains  of  birth  and  of  death.  Such 
matters  might  perplex  and  sadden,  or  arouse  her  indignant 
pity;  but,  being  strong  with  the  confidence  of  untouched 
youth  and  innocence,  they  were  powerless,  in  and  by  them- 
selves, to  terrify  her  to  the  contemptible  extremity  of 
headlong  flight. 

This  she  recognized,  though  less  by  reasoning  than  by 
instinct;  and  so  found  herself  compelled  to  search  deeper 
for  the  cause  of  her  recent  disgrace.  Not  that  she  willingly 
prosecuted  that  search;  but  that  the  subject  pursued  her, 
simply  refusing  to  leave  her  alone.  Continually  it  pre- 
sented itself  to  her  mind,  and  always  with  the  same  call 


74  DEADHAM  HARD 

for  escape,  the  same  foreboding  of  some  danger  against 
which  she  must  provide.  Always,  too,  it  seemed  to  hinge 
upon  Tom  Verity's  visit,  and  something  in  her  relation 
to  the  young  man  himself  which  she  could  not  define.  She 
revolved  the  question  now — Theresa  being  safely  packed 
off  to  her  tea-party — in  shade  of  the  ilex  trees,  with  solemn 
eyes  and  finely  serious  face. 

There  was  not  anything  unusual  in  receiving  visitors 
at  The  Hard.  Men  came  often  to  see  her  father,  and  she 
took  her  share  in  entertaining  all  such  comers  as  a  matter 
of  course.  Some  she  "  didn't  much  care  about,"  some 
she  liked.  But,  with  the  exception  of  Colonel  Carteret 
from  childhood  her  trusted  friend  and  confidant,  their  com- 
ing and  going  was  just  part  of  the  accustomed  routine,  a 
survival  from  the  life  at  the  Indian  summer  palace  of 
long  ago,  and  made  no  difference.  Yet,  though  she  was 
etill  uncertain  whether  she  did  like  Tom  Verity  or  not, 
his  coming  and  going  had  indisputably  made  a  difference. 
It  marked,  indeed,  a  new  departure  in  her  attitude  and 
thought.  Her  world,  before  his  advent,  was  other  than 
that  in  which  she  now  dwelt. 

For  one  thing,  Tom  was  much  younger  than  the  majority 
of  her  father's  guests — a  man  not  made  but  still  early  in 
the  making,  the  glamour  of  promise  rather  than  the  stark 
light  of  finality  upon  him.  This  affected  her ;  for  at  eighteen, 
a  career,  be  it  never  so  distinguished,  which  has  reached 
its  zenith,  in  other  words  reached  the  end  of  its  tether, 
must  needs  have  a  touch  of  melancholy  about  it.  With 
the  heat  of  going  on  in  your  own  veins,  the  sight  of  one 
who  has  no  further  go  strikes  chill  to  the  heart.  And  so, 
while  uncertain  whether  she  quite  trusted  him  or  not, 
Damaris — until  the  unlucky  running  away  episode — had 
taken  increasing  pleasure  in  this  new  cousin's  company. 
It  both  interested  and  diverted  her.  She  had  not  only 
felt  ready  to  talk  to  him;  but, — surprising  inclination! — 
once  the  ice  of  her  natural  reserve  broken,  to  talk  to  him 
about  herself. 

Half-shyly  she  dwelt  upon  his  personal  appearance. — 
A  fine  head  and  clever  face,  the  nose  astute,  slightly  Jewish. 


THE  HARD  SCHOOL  OF  THINGS  75 

in  type,  so  she  thought.  His  eyes  were  disappointing,  too 
thickly  brown  in  colour,  too  opaque.  They  told  you 
nothing,  were  indeed  curiously  meaningless;  and,  though 
well  set  under  an  ample  brow,  were  wanting  in  depth  and 
softness  owing  to  scantiness  of  eyelash.  But  his  chin 
satisfied  her  demands.  It  was  square,  forcible,  slightly 
cleft;  and  his  mouth,  below  the  fly-away  reddish  mous- 
tache, was  frankly  delightful. — Damaris  flushed,  smiling 
to  herself  now  as  she  recalled  his  smile.  Whereupon  the 
humiliation  of  that  thrice  wretched  running  away  took 
a  sharper  edge.  For  she  realized,  poor  child,  how  much — 
notwithstanding  her  proud  little  snubbing  of  him — she 
coveted  his  good  opinion,  wished  him  to  admire  and  to 
like  her;  wanted,  even  while  she  disapproved  his  self- 
complacency  and  slightly  doubted  his  truthfulness,  to  have 
him  carry  with  him  a  happy  impression  of  her — carry  it 
with  him  to  that  enchanted  far  Eastern  land  in  which 
all  the  poetry  of  her  childhood  had  its  root.  For,  if 
remembrance  of  her  remained  with  him,  and  that  agree- 
ably, she  herself  also  found  "  Passage  to  India  "  in  a 
sense.  And  this  idea,  recondite  though  it  was,  touched 
and  charmed  her  fancy — or  would  have  done  so  but  for 
the  recollection  of  her  deplorable  flight. — Oh!  what — 
what  made  her  run  away?  From  what  had  she  thus  run? 
If  she  could  only  find  out !  And  find,  moreover,  the  cause 
sufficient  to  palliate,  to  some  extent  at  least,  the  woeful- 
ness  of  her  cowardice. 

But  at  this  point  her  meditation  suffered  interruption. 
The  three  cormorants,  having  finis'hed  their  sun-bath,  rose 
from  the  sand  and  flapped  off,  flying  low  and  sullenly  in 
single  file  over  the  sea  parallel  with  the  eastward-trending 
coast-line. 

With  the  departure  of  the  great  birds  her  surroundings 
seemed  to  lose  their  only  element  of  active  and  conscious 
life.  The  brooding  sunlit  evening  became  oppressive,  so 
that  in  the  space  of  a  moment  Damaris  passed  from  soli- 
tude, which  is  stimulating,  to  loneliness,  which  is  only  sad. 
Meanwhile  the  shadow  cast  by  the  ilex  trees  had  grown 
sensibly  longer,  softer  in  outline,  more  transparent  and 


76  DEADHAM  HARD 

finely  intangible  in  tone,  and  the  reek  of  the  mud-flats 
more  potent,  according  to  its  habit  at  sundown  and  low 
tide. 

It  quenched  the  garden  scents  with  a  foetid  sweetness, 
symbolic  perhaps  of  the  languorous  sheltered  character  of 
the  scene  and  of  much  which  had  or  nil-lit  yet  happen 
there — the  life  breath  of  the  genius  loci,  an  at  once  seduc- 
tive and,  as  Tom  Verity  had  rightly  divined,  a  doubtfully 
wholesome  spirit!  Over  Damaris  it  exercised  an  unwilling 
fascination,  as  of  some  haunting  refrain  ending  each  verse 
of  her  personal  experience.  Even  when,  as  a  little  girl  of 
eight,  fresh  from  the  gentle  restraints  and  rare  religious 
and  social  amenities  of  an  aristocratic  convent  school  in 
Paris,  she  had  first  encountered  it,  it  struck  her  as 
strangely  familiar — a  thing  given  back  rather  than  newly 
discovered,  making  her  mind  and  innocent  body  alike 
eager  with  absorbed  yet  half-shuddering  recognition.  A 
good  ten  years  had  elapsed  since  then,  but  her  early  im- 
pression still  persisted,  producing  in  her  a  certain  spiritual 
and  emotional  unrest. 

And  at  that,  by  natural  transition,  her  thought  turned 
from  Tom  Verity  to  fix  itself  upon  the  one  other  possible 
witness  of  her  ignominy — namely,  the  young  master 
mariner  who,  coming  ashore  in  Proud,  the  lobster-catcher's 
cranky  boat,  had  walked  up  the  shifting  shingle  to  the 
crown  of  the  ridge  and  stood  watching  her,  in  silence,  for 
a  quite  measurable  period,  before  passing  on  his  way  down 
to  the  ferry.  For,  from  her  first  sight  of  him,  had  he  not 
seemed  to  evoke  that  same  sense  of  remembrance,  to  be, 
like  the  reek  off  the  mud-flats,  already  well-known,  some- 
thing given  back  to  her  rather  than  newly  discovered?  She 
was  still  ignorant  as  to  who  he  was  or  where  he  came  from, 
having  been  far  too  engrossed  by  mortification  to  pay  any 
attention  to  the  conversation  between  her  cousin  and 
Jennifer  during  their  little  voyage  down  the  tide-river, 
and  having  disdained  to  make  subsequent  enquiries. — She 
had  a  rooted  dislike  to  appear  curious  or  ask  questions. — 
But  now,  reviewing  the  whole  episode,  it  broke  in  on  her 
that  the  necessity  for  escape  and  foreboding  of  danger, 


THE  HARD  SCHOOL  OF  THINGS  ,77 

which,  culminated  in  her  flight,  actually  dated  from  the 
advent  of  this  stranger  rather  than  from  Tom's  request 
for  enlightenment  concerning  unaccountable  noises  heard 
in  the  small  hours. 

Damaris  slipped  her  feet  down  off  the  leg-rest,  and  sat 
upright,  tense  with  the  effort  to  grasp  and  disentangle  the 
bearings  of  this  revelation.  "Was  her  search  ended?  Had 
she  indeed  detected  the  cause  of  her  discomfiture ;  or  only 
pushed  her  enquiry  back  a  step  further,  thus  widening 
rather  than  limiting  the  field  of  speculation?  For  what 
conceivable  connection,  as  she  reflected,  could  the  old 
lobster-catcher's  passenger  have  with  any  matter  even  re- 
motely affecting  herself! 

Then  she  started,  suddenly  sensible  of  a  comfortable, 
though  warmly  protesting,  human  voice  and  presence  at 
her  elbow. 

"  Yes,  you  may  well  look  astonished,  Miss  Damaris.  I 
know  how  late  it  is,  and  have  been  going  on  like  anything 
to  Lizzie  over  her  carelessness.  Mrs.  Cooper's  walked  up 
the  village  with  Laura  about  some  extra  meat  that's 
wanted,  and  when  I  came  through  for  your  tea  if  that  girl 
hadn't  let  the  kitchen  fire  right  out! — Amusing  herself 
down  in  the  stable-yard,  I  expect,  Mrs.  Cooper  being  gone. 
—And  the  business  I've  had  to  get  a  kettle  to  boil!  " 

Verging  on  forty,  tall,  dark,  deep-bosomed  and  comely, 
a  rich  flush  en  her  cheeks  under  the  clear  brown  skin 
thanks  to  a  kitchen  fire  which  didn't  burn  and  righteous 
anger  which  did,  Mary  Fisher,  the  upper  housemaid,  set 
a  tea-tray  upon  the  garden  table  beside  Damaris'  chair. 

"  That's  what  comes  of  taking  servants  out  of  trades- 
peoples'  houses,"  she  went  on,  as  she  marshalled  silver 
tea-pot  and  cream-jug — embossed  with  flamboyant  many- 
armed  Hindu  deities — hot  cakes,  ginger  snaps  and  saffron- 
sprinkled  buns.  "  You  can't  put  any  real  dependence  on 
them,  doing  their  work  as  suits  themselves  just  anyhow 
and  anywhen.  Mrs.  Cooper  and  I  knew  how  it  would  be 
well  enough  when  Miss  Bilson  engaged  Lizzie  Trant  and 
Mr.  Hordle  said  the  same.  But  it  wasn't  one  atom  of  use 
for  us  to  speak.  The  Miss  Minetts  recommended  the  girl 


78  DEADHAM  HARD 

— so  there  was  the  finish  of  it.  And  that's  at  the  bottom 
of  your  being  kept  waiting  the  best  part  of  a  hour  for 
your  tea  like  this,  Miss." 

Notwithstanding  the  exactions  of  a  somewhat  tyrannous 
brain  and  her  conviction  of  high  responsibilities,  the  child, 
which  delights  to  be  petted,  told  stories  and  made  much 
of,  was  strong  in  Damaris  still.  This  explosion  of  domestic 
wrath  on  her  behalf  proved  eminently  soothing.  It  di- 
rected her  brooding  thought  into  nice,  amusing,  everyday 
little  channels;  and  assured  her  of  protective  solicitude, 
actively  on  the  watch,  by  which  exaggerated  shames  and 
alarms  were  withered  and  loneliness  effectually  dispersed. 
She  felt  smoothed,  contented.  Fell,  indeed,  into  something 
of  the  humour  which  climbs  on  to  a  friendly  lap  and 
thrones  it  there  blissfully  careless  of  the  thousand  and 
one  ills,  known  and  unknown,  which  infant  flesh  is  heir 
to.  She  engaged  the  comely  comfortable  woman  to  stay 
and  minister  further  to  her. 

"  Pour  out  my  tea  for  me,  Mary,  please,"  she  said,  "  if 
you're  not  busy.  But  isn't  this  your  afternoon  off,  by 
rights?" 

And  Mary,  while  serving  her,  acknowledged  that  not 
only  was  it  "by  rights  "  her  "afternoon  off ;  "  but  that 
Mr.  Patch,  the  coachman,  had  volunteered  to  drive  her  into 
Marychurch  to  see  her  parents  when  lie  exercised  the  car- 
riage horses.  But,  while  thanking  him  very  kindly,  she 
had  refused.  "Was  it  likely,  she  said,  she  would  leave  the 
house  with  Sir  Charles  and  Mr.  Hordle  away,  and  Miss 
Bilson  taking  herself  off  to  visit  friends,  too? 

From  which  Damaris  gathered  that,  in  the  opinion  of  the 
servants'  hall,  Theresa's  offence  was  rank,  it  stank  to 
heaven.  She  therefore,  being  covetous  of  continued  con- 
tentment, turned  the  conversation  to  less  controversial  sub- 
jects; and,  after  passing  notice  of  the  fair  weather,  the 
brightness  of  the  geraniums  and  kindred  trivialities,  suc- 
cessfully incited  Mary  to  talk  of  Brockhurst,  Sir  Richard 
Calmady's  famous  place  in  the  north  of  the  county,  where 
— prior  to  his  retirement  to  his  native  town  of  Mary- 
church,  upon  a  generous  pension — her  father,  Lomas 


THE  HARD  SCHOOL  OF  THINGS  79 

Fisher,  had  for  many  years  occupied  the  post  of  second 
gardener.  Here  was  material  for  story-telling  to  the  child 
Damaris'  heart's  content!  For  Brockhurst  is  rich  in 
strange  records  of  wealth,  calamity,  heroism  and  sport,  the 
inherent  romance  of  which  Mary's  artless  narrative  was 
calculated  to  enhance  rather  than  dissipate. 

So  young  mistress  listened  and  maid  recounted,  until, 
the  former  fortified  by  cakes  and  tea,  the  two  sauntered, 
side  by  side — a  tall  stalwart  black  figure,  white  capped  and 
aproned  and  an  equally  tall  but  slender  pale  pink  one — 
down  across  the  lawn  to  the  battery  where  the  small  ob- 
solete cannon  so  boldly  defied  danger  of  piracy  or  invasion 
by  sea. 

The  sun,  a  crimson  disc,  enormous  in  the  earth-mist, 
sank  slowly,  south  of  west,  behind  the  dark  mass  of  Stone 
Horse  Head.  The  tipper  branches  of  the  line  of.  Scotch 
firs  in  the  warren  and,  beyond  them,  the  upper  windows 
of  the  cottages  and  Inn  caught  the  fiery  light.  Presently  a 
little  wind,  thin,  perceptibly  chill,  drew  up  the  river  with 
the  turning  of  the  tide.  It  fluttered  Mary  Fisher's  long 
white  muslin  apron  strings  and  lifted  her  cap,  so  that  she 
raised  her  hand  to  keep  it  in  place  upon  her  smooth  black 
hair.  The  romance  of  Brockhurst  failed  upon  her  tongue. 
She  grew  sharply  practical. 

"  The  dew's  beginning  to  rise,  Miss  Damaris,"  she  said, 
"  and  you've  only  got  your  house  shoes  on.  You  ought  to 
go  indoors  at  once." 

But — "  Listen,"  Damaris  replied,  and  lingered. 

The  whistling  of  a  tune,  shrill,  but  true  and  sweet,  and 
a^  rattle  of  loose  shingle,  while  a  young  man  climbed  the 
seaward  slope  of  the  Bar.  The  whistling  ceased  as  he 
stopped,  on  the  crest  of  the  ridge,  and  stood,  bare-headed, 
contemplating  the  sunset.  For  a  few  seconds  the  fiery 
light  stained  his  hands,  his  throat,  his  hair,  his  handsome 
bearded  face ;  then  swiftly  faded,  leaving  him  like  a  giant 
leaden  image  set  up  against  a  vast  pallor  of  sea  and 
sky. 

Mary  Fisher  choked  down  a  hasty  exclamation. 

"Come,  do  come,  Miss  Damaris,  before  the  grass  gets 


80  DEADHAM  HARD 

too  wet,"  she  said  almost  sharply.  "  It's  going  to  be  a 
drenching  dew  to-night." 

"  Yes — directly — in  a  minute — but,  Mary,  tell  me  who 
that  is?  " 

The  woman  hesitated. 

* '  Out  on  the  Bar,  do  you  mean  ?  No  one  I  am  acquainted 
with,  Miss." 

"  I  did  not  intend  to  ask  if  he  was  a  friend  of  yours," 
Damaris  returned,  with  a  touch  of  grandeur,  ' '  but  merely 
whether  you  could  tell  me  his  name." 

"  Oh!  it's  Mrs.  Faircloth's  son  I  suppose — the  person 
who  keeps  the  Inn.  I  heard  he  'd  been  home  for  a  few 
days  waiting  for  a  ship  " — and  she  turned  resolutely 
towards  the  house.  "  It's  quite  time  that  silver  was  taken 
indoors  and  the  library  windows  closed.  But  you  must 
excuse  me,  Miss  Damaris,  I  can't  have  you  stay  out  here 
in  that  thin  gown  in  the  damp.  You  really  must  come 
with  me,  Miss." 

And  the  child  in  Damaris  obeyed.  Dutifully  it  went, 
though  the  soul  of  the  eighteen-year-old  Damaris  was  far 
away,  started  once  more  on  an  anxious  quest. 

She  heard  the  loose  shingle  shift  and  rattle  under  Fair- 
cloth's  feet  as  he  swung  down,  the  near  slope  to  the  jetty. 
The  sound  pursued  her,  and  again  she  was  overtaken — : 
overwhelmed  by  foreboding  and  desire  of  flight. 


WHICH    CANTERS   ROUND    A    PARISH    PUMP 

NOT  until  the  second  bell  was  about  to  cease  ringing 
did  Theresa  Bilson — fussily  consequential — reappear 
at  The  Hard. 

During  the  absence  of  the  master  of  the  house  she  would 
have  much  preferred  high  tea  in  the  schoolroom,  com- 
bined with  a  certain  laxity  as  to  hours  and  to  dress;  but 
Damaris,  in  whom  the  sense  of  style  was  innate,  stood  out 
for  the  regulation  dignities  of  late  dinner  and  evening 
gowns.  To-night,  however,  thanks  to  her  own  unpunctu- 
ality,  Miss  Bilson  found  ample  excuse  for  dispensing  with 
ceremonial  garments. 

"  No — no — we  will  not  wait,''  she  said,  addressing  Mary 
and  her  attendant  satellite,  Laura,  the  under-housemaid, 
as — agreeably  ignorant  of  the  sentiment  of  a  servants' 
hall  which  thirsted  for  her  blood — she  passed  the  two 
standing  at  attention  by  the  open  door  of  the  dining-room. 
"  I  am  not  going  to  change.  I  will  leave  my  hat  and 
things  down  here — Laura  can  take  them  to  my  room  later 
— and  have  dinner  as  I  am." 

During  the  course  of  that  meal  she  explained  how  she 
had  really  quite  failed  to  observe  the  hour  when  she  left 
the  Grey  House.  Commander  and  Mrs.  Battye  were  at 
tea  there ;  and  the  vicar — Dr.  Horniblow — looked  in  after- 
wards. There  was  quite  a  little  meeting,  in  fact,  to  ar- 
range the  details  of  the  day  after  to-morrow's  choir  treat. 
A  number  of  upper-class  parishioners,  she  found,  were 
anxious  to  embrace  this  opportunity  of  visiting  Harchester, 
and  inspecting  the  Cathedral  and  other  sights  of  that 
historic  city,  under  learned  escort.  It  promised  to  be  a 
most  interesting  and  instructive  expedition,  involving 
moreover  but  moderate  cost. — And  every  one  present — 

81 


82  DEADHAM  HARD 

Theresa  bridled  over  her  salmon  cutlet  and  oyster  sauce 
— everyone  seemed  so  anxious  for  her  assistance  and  ad- 
vice. The  vicar  deferred  to  her  opinion  in  a  quite  pointed 
manner;  and  spoke,  which  was  so  nice  of  him,  of  her 
known  gift  of  organization.  "So  we  claim  not  only 
your  sympathy,  Miss  Bilson,  but  your  active  co-opera- 
tion," he  had  said.  "  We  feel  The  Hard  should  be  offici- 
ally represented." 

Here  the  speaker  became  increasingly  self-conscious  and 
blushed. 

"  What  could  I  do,  therefore,  but  remain  even  at  the 
risk  of  being  a  trifle  late  for  dinner?  "  she  asked.  "  It 
would  have  been  so  extremely  uncivil  to  the  Miss  Minetts 
to  break  up  the  gathering  by  leaving  before  full  agreement 
as  to  the  arrangements  had  been  reached.  I  felt  I  must 
regard  it  as  a  public  duty,  Under  the  circumstances.  I 
really  owed  it  to  my  position  here,  you  know,  Damaris,  to 
stay  to  the  last." 

It  may  be  observed,  in  passing,  that  Miss  Bilson  was 
fond  of  food  and  made  a  good  deal  of  noise  in  eating, 
particularly  when,  as  on  the  present  occasion,  she  combined 
that  operation  with  continuous  speech.  This  may  account 
for  Damaris  bestowing  greater  attention  on  the  manner 
than  the  matter  of  her  ex-governess'  communications. 
She  was  sensible  that  the  latter  showed  to  small  advantage 
being  rather  foolishly  excited  and  elate,  and  felt  vexed 
the  maids  should  hear  and  see  her  behaving  thus.  It  could 
hardly  fail  to  lower  her  in  their  estimation. 

As  to  the  impending  parochial  invasion  of  Harchester — 
during  the  earlier  stages  of  dinner  Damaris  hardly  gave 
it  a  second  thought,  being  still  under  the  empire  of  im- 
pressions very  far  removed  from  anything  in  the  nature 
of  choir  treats.  She  still  beheld  the  fiery  glare  of 
an  expiring  sunset,  and  against  the  ensuing  pallor  of  sea 
and  sky  a  leaden-hued  human  figure  strangely,  almost 
portentously  evident.  That  it  appeared  noble  in  pose 
and  in  outline,  even  beautiful,  she  could  not  deny.  But 
that  somehow  it  frightened  her,  she  could  equally  little 
deny.  So  it  came  about  that  once  again,  as  Mary  and  her 


THE  HARD  SCHOOL  OF  THINGS  83 

satellite  Laura  silently  waited  at  table,  and  as  Theresa 
very  audibly  gobbled  food  in  and  words  out,  Damaris 
shrank  within  herself  seeming  to  hear  a  shrill  sweet  whistl- 
ing and  the  shatter  of  loose  pebbles  and  shifting  shingle 
under  Faircloth's  pursuing  feet. 

The  young  man's  name  aroused  her  interest,  not  to  say 
her  curiosity,  the  more  deeply  because  of  its  association 
with  a  locality  exploration  of  which  had  always  been 
denied  her — a  Naboth's  vineyard  of  the  imagination,  near 
at  hand,  daily  in  sight,  yet  personal  acquaintance  with 
which  she  failed  to  possess  even  yet.  The  idea  of  an 
island,  especially  a  quite  little  island,  a  miniature  and 
separate  world,  shut  off  all  by  itself,  is  dreadfully  entic- 
ing to  the  infant  mind — at  once  a  geographical  entity  and 
a  cunning  sort  of  toy.  And  Faircloth's  Inn,  with  the 
tarred  wooden  houses  adjacent,  was  situated  upon  what,  to 
all  intents  and  purposes,  might  pass  as  an  island  since 
accessible  only  by  boat  or  by  an  ancient  paved  causeway 
daily  submerged  at  high  tide. 

Skirting  the  further  edge  of  the  warren,  a  wide  rutted 
side  lane  leads  down  to  the  landward  end  of  the  said  cause- 
way from  the  village  green,  just  opposite  Deadham  post 
office  and  Mrs.  Doubleday's  general  shop. — A  neglected 
somewhat  desolate  strip  of  road  this,  between  broken  earth- 
banks  topped  by  ragged  firs,  yet  very  paintable  and  dear 
to  the  sketch-book  of  the  amateur.  In  summer  overgrown 
with  grass  and  rushes,  bordered  by  cow-parsley,  meadow- 
sweet, pink  codlings-and-cream,  and  purple  flowered  pep- 
permint, in  winter  a  marsh  of  sodden  brown  and  vivid 
green;  but  at  all  seasons  a  telling  perspective,  closed  by 
the  lonely  black  and  grey  island  hamlet  set  in  the  gleam- 
ing tide. 

Small  wonder  the  place  stirred  Damaris'  spirit  of  en- 
quiry and  adventure !  She  wanted  to  go  there,  to  examine, 
to  learn  how  people  lived  cut  off  from  the  mainland  for 
hours  twice  every  day  and  night.  But  her  early  attempts 
at  investigation  met  with  prompt  discouragement  from 
both  her  nurse  and  her  aunt,  Felicia  Verity.  And  Damaris 
was  not  of  the  disposition  which  plots,  wheedles,  and  teases 


S4>  DEADHAM  HARD 

to  obtain  what  it  wants ;  still  less  screams  for  the  desired 
object  until  for  very  weariness  resistance  yields.  Either 
she  submitted  without  murmuring  or  fearlessly  defied 
authority.  In  the  present  case  she  relinquished  hope  and 
purpose  obediently,  while  inwardly  longing  for  exploration 
of  her  "  darling  little  island  "  all  the  more. 

But  authority  was  not  perhaps  altogether  unjustified 
of  its  decision,  for  the  inhabitants  of  the  spot  so  engaging 
to  Damaris'  imagination  were  a  close  corporation,  a  race 
of  sailors  and  fishermen  and,  so  said  rumour,  somewhat 
rough  customers  at  that.  They  lived  according  to  their 
own  traditions  and  unwritten  laws,  entertained  a  lordly 
contempt  for  wage-earning  labourers  and  landsmen,  and, 
save  when  money  was  likely  to  pass,  were  grudging  of  hos- 
pitality even  to  persons  of  quality  setting  foot  within  their 
coasts. 

To  their  reprehensible  tendencies  in  this  last  respect  the 
Miss  Minetts  could  bear  painful  witness,  as — with  hushed 
voices  and  entreaties  the  sorry  tale  might  "  go  no  further  " 
— they  more  than  once  confided  to  Theresa  Bilson.  For 
one  Saturday  afternoon — unknown  to  the  vicar — being 
zealous  in  the  admonishing  of  recalcitrant  church-goers 
and  rounding  up  of  possible  Sunday-school  recruits,  they 
crossed  to  the  island  at  low  tide ;  and  in  their  best  district 
visitor  manner — too  often  a  sparkling  blend  of  condescen- 
sion and  familiarity,  warranted  to  irritate — severally  de- 
manded entrance  to  the  first  two  of  the  black  cottages. — 
The  Inn  they  avoided.  Refined  gentlewomen  can  hardly 
be  expected,  even  in  the  interests  of  religion,  to  risk  pollu- 
tion by  visiting  a  common  tavern,  more  particularly  when 
a  company  of  half-grown  lads  and  blue  jerseyed  men — 
who  may,  of  course,  have  been  carousing  within — hangs 
about  its  morally  malodorous  door. 

Of  precisely  what  followed  their  attempted  violation  of 
the  privacy  of  those  two  cottages,  even  the  Miss  Minetts 
themselves  could  subsequently  give  no  very  coherent  ac- 
count. They  only  knew  that  some  half-hour  later,  with 
petticoats  raised  to  a  height  gravely  imperilling  decency, 
they  splashed  landward  across  the  causeway — now  ankle- 


THE  HARD  SCHOOL  OF  THINGS  85 

deep  in  water — while  the  lads  congregated  before  the  Inn 
laughed  boisterously,  the  men  turned  away  with  a  guffaw, 
dogs  of  disgracefully  mixed  parentage  yelped,  and  the 
elder  female  members  of  the  Proud  and  Sclanders  families 
flung  phrases  lamentably  subversive  of  gentility  after  their 
retreating  figures  from  the  foreshore. 

Modesty  and  mortification  alike  forbade  the  outraged 
ladies  reporting  the  episode  to  Dr.  Horniblow  in  extenso. 
But  they  succeeded  in  giving  Miss  Bilson  a  sufficiently 
lurid  account,  of  it  to  make  ' '  the  darling  little  island, ' ' 
in  as  far  as  her  charge,  Damaris,  was  concerned,  more  than 
ever  taboo.  Their  request  that  the  story  might  "  go 
no  further  "  she  interpreted  with  the  elasticity  usually 
accorded  to  such  requests;  and  proceeded,  at  the  first  op- 
portunity, to  retail  the  whole  shocking  occurrence  to  her 
pupil  as  an  example  of  the  ingratitude  and  insubordina- 
tion of  the  common  people.  For  Theresa  was  nothing  if 
not  conservative  and  aristocratic.  From  such  august 
anachronisms  as  the  divine  right  of  kings  and  the  Stuart 
succession,  down  to  humble  bobbing  of  curtseys  and  pull- 
ing of  forelocks  in  to-day's  village  street,  she  held  a  perma- 
nent brief  for  the  classes  as  against  the  masses.  Unluckily 
the  Miss  Minetts'  hasty  and  watery  withdrawal,  with  up- 
gathered  skirts,  across  the  causeway  had  appealed  to 
Damaris'  sense  of  comedy  rather  than  of  tragedy. — She 
didn't  want  to  be  unkind,  but  you  shouldn't  interfere-; 
and  if  you  insisted  on  interfering  you  must  accept  what- 
ever followed.  The  two  ladies  in  question  were  richly 
addicted  to  interfering  she  had  reason  to  think. — And  then 
they  must  have  looked  so  wonderfully  funny  scuttling 
thus! 

The  picture  remained  by  her  as  a  thing  of  permanent 
mirth.  So  it  was  hardly  surprising,  in  face  of  the  domi- 
nant direction  of  her  thoughts  to-night,  that,  when  the 
Miss  Minetts'  name  punctuated  Theresa's  discourse  re- 
current as  a  cuckoo-cry,  remembrance  of  their  merrily  in- 
glorious retirement  from  the  region  of  Faircloth's  Inn 
should  present  itself.  Whereupon  Damaris'  serious  mood 
was  lightened  as  by  sudden  sunshine,  and  she  laughed. 


86  DEADHAM  HARD 

Hearing  which  infectiously  gay  but  quite  unexpected 
sound,  Miss  Bilson  stopped  dead  in  the  middle  both  of  a 
nectarine  and  a  sentence. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Damaris?  "  she  exclaimed.  "  I 
was  explaining  our  difficulty  in  securing  sufficient  convey- 
ances for  some  of  our  party  to  and  from  Marychurch  sta- 
tion. I  really  do  not  see  any  cause  for  amusement  in  what 
I  said." 

"  There  wasn't  anything  amusing,  dear  Billy,  I'm  sure 
there  wasn't,"  Damaris  returned,  the  corners  of  her  mouth 
still  quivering  and  her  eyes  very  bright.  "  I  beg  your 
pardon.  I'm  afraid  I  wasn't  quite  attending.  I  was  think- 
ing of  something  else.  You  were  speaking  about  the 
carriage  horses,  weren  't  you  ?  Yes  ' ' 

But  Theresa  turned  sulky.  She  had  been  posing,  plan- 
ing in  mid-air  around  the  fair  castles  hope  and  ambi- 
tion are  reported  to  build  there.  Her  fat  little  feet  were 
well  off  the  floor,  and  that  outbreak  of  laughter  let  her 
down  with  a  bump.  She  lost  her  head,  lost  her  temper 
land  her  opportunity  along  with  it,  and  fell  into  useless 
scolding. 

"  You  are  extremely  inconsequent  and  childish  some- 
times, Damaris,"  she  said.  "  I  find  it  most  trying  when  I 
attempt  to  talk  to  you  upon  practical  subjects,  really  press- 
ing subjects,  and  you  either  cannot  or  will  not  concentrate. 
"What  can  you  expect  in  the  future  when  you  are  thrown 
more  on  your  own  resources,  and  have  not  me — for  in- 
stance— always  to  depend  upon,  if  you  moon  through  life 
like  this?  It  must  lead  to  great  discomfort  not  only  for 
yourself  but  for  others.  Pray  be  warned  in  time." 

Damaris  turned  in  her  chair  at  the  head  of  the  table. — 
A  station  not  unconnected,  in  Theresa's  mind,  with  the 
internal  ordering  of  those  same  air-built  castles,  and  con- 
sistently if  furtively  coveted  by  her.  To  Sir  Charles's 
chair  at  the  bottom  of  the  table,  she  dared  not  aspire,  so 
during  his  absence  reluctantly  retained  her  accustomed 
place  at  the  side. 

"  You  need  not  wait  any  longer,  Mary,"  Damaris  said, 
over  her  shoulder. 


THE  HARD  SCHOOL  OF  THINGS  87 

"  "Why?  " — Theresa  began  fussily,  as  the  two  maids 
left  the  room. 

"  Why?  "  Damaris  took  her  up.  "  Because  I  prefer 
our  being  alone  during  the  remainder  of  this  conversation. 
I  understand  that  you  want  to  ask  me  about  something 
to  do  with  this  excursion  to  Harchester.  "What  is  it, 
please?  " 

"  My  dear  Damaris,"  the  other  protested,  startled  and 
scenting  unexpected  danger,  "  really  your  manner  " — 

"  And  yours. — Both  perhaps  would  bear  improve- 
ment. But  that  is  by  the  way.  "What  is  it,  please,  you 
want? "  > 

"  Really  you  assert  yourself  " 

"  And  you  forget  yourself — before  the  servants, 
too,  I  do  not  like  it  at  alL  You  should  be  more  care- 
ful." 

"  Damaris,"  she  cried  aghast,  confounded  to  the  verge 
of  tears — "  Damaris!  " 

"  Yes — I  am  giving  you  my  full  attention.  Pray  let  us 
be  practical,"  the  young  girl  said,  sitting  up  tall  and 
straight  in  the  shaded  lamplight,  the  white  dinner-table 
spread  with  gleaming  glass  and  silver,  fine  china,  fruit  and 
flowers  before  her,  the  soft  gloom  of  the  long  low  room 
behind,  all  tender  hint  of  childhood  banished  from  her 
countenance,  and  her  eyes  bright  now  not  with  laughter 
but  with  battle.  "  Pray  let  us  finish  with  the  subject 
of  the  choir  treat.  Then  we  shall  be  free  to  talk  about 
more  interesting  things." 

Miss  Bilson  waved  her  hands  hysterically. 

"  No — no — I  never  wish  to  mention  it  again.  I  am 
too  deeply  hurt  by  your  behaviour  to  me,  Damaris — your 
sarcasm. — Of  course,"  she  added,  "  I  see  I  must  withdraw 
my  offer.  It  will  cause  the  greatest  inconvenience  and 
disappointment;  but  for  that  I  cannot  hold  myself  re- 
sponsible, though  it  will  be  most  painful  and  embarrassing 
to  me  after  the  kind  appreciation  I  have  received.  Still  I 
must  withdraw  it  " 

"  Withdraw  what  offer?  " 

"  Why  the  offer  I  was  explaining  to  you  just  now,  when 


88  DEADHAM  HARD 

you  ordered  the  maids  out  of  the  room.  You  really  can- 
not deny  that  you  heard  what  I  said,  Damaris,  because  you 
mentioned  the  carriage  horses  yourself." 

Theresa  sipped  some  water.  She  was  recovering  if  not 
her  temper,  yet  her  grasp  on  the  main  issue.  She  wanted, 
so  desperately,  to  achieve  her  purpose  and,  incidentally,  to 
continue  to  play,  both  for  her  own  benefit  and  that  of  the 
parish,  her  self -elected  role  of  Lady  Bountiful,  of  "  of- 
ficial representative  of  The  Hard  " — as  Dr.  Horniblow  by 
a  quite  innocent  if  ill-timed  flourish  of  speech  had  unfortu- 
nately put  it. 

"  The  conveyances  in  the  village  are  insufficient  to  take 
the  whole  party  to  the  station,"  she  continued.  "  An 
extra  brake  can  be  had  at  the  Stag's  Head  in  Marychurch ; 
but  a  pair  of  horses  must  be  sent  in  to-morrow  afternoon 
to  bring  it  over  here.  I  saw  " — she  hesitated  a  moment — 
"  I  really  could  see  no  objection  to  Patch  taking  our 
horses  in  to  fetch  the  brake,  and  driving  a  contingent  to 
the  station  in  it  next  morning." 

"  And  meeting  the  train  at  night,  I  suppose?  "  Damaris 
said  calmly. 

"  Of  course,"  Theresa  answered,  thus  unconsciously  de- 
claring herself  a  rank  outsider,  and  rushing  blindly  upon 
her  fate. 

For  what  thoroughbred  member  of  the  equestrian  order 
does  not  know  that  next — and  even  that  not  always — to  the 
ladies  of  his  family  and,  possibly,  the  key  of  his  cellar,  an 
Englishman's  stable  is  sacrosanct?  Dispose  of  anything 
he  owns  rather  than  his  horses.  To  attempt  touching  them 
is,  indeed,  to  stretch  out  your  hand  against  the  Ark  of 
the  Covenant  and  risk  prompt  withering  of  that  impious 
limb.  Yet  poor  Theresa  blundered  on. 

"  I  told  the  vicar  that,  Sir  Charles  being  from  home, 
I  felt  I  might  make  the  offer  myself,  seeing  how  much  it 
would  simplify  the  arrangements  and  how  very  little  work 
Patch  has  when  you  and  I  are  alone  here.  It  is  a  pity 
there  is  not  time  to  obtain  Sir  Charles's  sanction.  That 
would  be  more  proper,  of  course",  more  satisfactory.  But 
under  the  circumstances  it  need  not,  I  think,  be  regarded 


LTHE  HARD  SCHOOL  OF  THINGS  80 

as  an  insuperable  objection.  I  told  the  Miss  Minetts  and 
the  vicar  " 

Here  Miss  Bilson  blushed,  applying  fork  and  spoon,  in 
coy  confusion,  to  the  remains  of  the  nectarine  upon  her 
plate. 

"  I  told  them,"  she  repeated,  "  knowing  Sir  Charles  as 
well  as  I  do,  I  felt  I  might  safely  assure  them  of  that. ' ' 

In  Damaris,  meanwhile,  anger  gradually  gave  place  to 
far  more  complex  emotions.  She  sat  well  back  in  her  chair, 
and  clasped  her  hands  firmly  in  her  flowered  Pompadour- 
muslin  lap.  Her  eyes  looked  enormous  as  she  kept  them, 
fixed  gravely  and  steadily  upon  the  speaker.  For  ex- 
traordinary ,  ideas  and  perceptions  concerning  the  said 
speaker  crowded  into  her  young  head.  She  did  not  like 
them  at  all.  She  shrank  from  dwelling  upon  or  following 
them  out.  They,  indeed,  made  her  hot  and  uncomfortable 
all  over.  Had  Theresa  Bilson  taken  leave  of  her  senses, 
or  was  she,  Damaris,  herself  in  fault — a  harbourer  of  nasty 
thoughts  ?  Consciously  she  felt  to  grow  older,  to  grow  up. 
And  she  did  not  like  that  either ;  for  the  grown-up  world, 
to  which  Theresa  acted  just  now  as  doorkeeper,  struck 
her  as  an  ugly  and  vulgar-minded  place.  She  saw  her  ex- 
governess  from  a  new  angle — a  more  illuminating  than 
agreeable  one,  at  which  she  no  longer  figured  as  pitiful, 
her  little  assumptions  and  sillinesses  calling  for  the  chival- 
rous forbearance  of  persons  more  happily  placed;  but  as 
actively  impertinent,  a  usurper  of  authority  and  privileges, 
altogether  outside  her  office  and  her  scope.  She  was  greedy 
— not  a  pretty  word  yet  a  true  one,  covering  both  her 
manner  of  eating  and  her  speech.  Registering  which  facts 
Damaris  was  sensible  of  almost  physical  repulsion,  as  from 
something  obscurely  gross.  Hence  it  followed  that  Theresa 
must,  somehow,  be  stopped,  made  to  see  her  own  present 
unpleasantness,  saved  from  herself  in  short — to  which 
end  it  became  Damaris'  duty  to  unfurl  the  flag  of  revolt. 

The  young  girl  arrived  at  this  conclusion  in  a  spirit 
of  rather  pathetic  seriousness.  It  is  far  from  easy,  at 
eighteen,  to  control  tongue  and  temper  to  the  extent  of 
joining  battle  with  your  elders  in  calm  and  dignified  sort. 


90  DEADHAM  HARD 

To  lay  about  you  in  a  rage  is  easy  enough.  But  rage  is 
tiresomely  liable  to  defeat  its  own  object  and  make  you 
make  a  fool  of  yourself.  Any  unfurling  of  the  flag  would 
be  useless,  and  worse  than  useless,  unless  it  heralded  vic- 
tory sure  and  complete — Damaris  realized  this.  So  she 
kept  a  brave  front,  although  her  pulse  quickened  and  she 
had  a  bad  little  empty  feeling  around  her  heart. 

Fortunately,  however,  for  her  side  of  the  campaign, 
Theresa — emboldened  by  recapitulation  of  her  late  boast- 
ings at  the  Miss  Minetts'  tea-table — hastened  to  put  a 
gilded  dome  to  her  own  indiscretion  and  offence.  For 
nothing  would  do  but  Damaris  must  accompany  her  on 
this  choir  treat !  She  declared  herself  really  compelled  to 
press  the  point.  It  offered  such  an  excellent  opportunity 
of  acquiring  archaeological  knowledge — had  not  the  Dean 
moet  kindly  promised  to  conduct  the  party  round  the 
Cathedral  himself  and  deliver  a  short  lecture  en  route? 
— and  of  friendly  social  intercourse,  both  of  which  would 
be  very  advantageous  to  Damaris.  As  she  was  without 
any  engagement  for  the  day  clearly  neither  should 
be  missed.  Of  course,  everyone  understood  how  unsuitable 
it  would  be  to  ask  Sir  Charles  to  patronize  parish  ex- 
cursions and  events. — Here  Miss  Bilson  became  lyrical, 
.speaking  with  gasping  breath  and  glowing  face,  of  "  a  call 
to  exalted  spheres  of  action,  of  great  Proconsuls,  Empire 
Builders,  Pillars  of  the  State." — Naturally  you  hesitated 
to  intrude  on  the  time  and  attention  of  such  a  distinguished 
person — that  in  point  of  fact  was  her  main  reason  for 
disposing  of  the  matter  of  the  carriage  horses  herself. 
How  could  she  trouble  Sir  Charles  with  such  a  homely 
detail? — But  Damaris'  case,  needless  to  remark,  was  very 
different.  At  her  age  it  was  invidious  to  be  too  exclusive. 
Miss  Felicia  Verity  felt — so  she,  Theresa,  was  certain — 
that  it  was  a  pity  Damaris  did  not  make  more  friends  in 
the  village  now  she  was  out  of  the  schoolroom.  May  and 
Doris  Horniblow  were  sweet  girls  and  highly  educated. 
They,  of  course,  were  going.  And  Captain  Taylor,  she 
understood  would  bring  his  daughter,  Louisa — who  was 
home  for  a  few  days  before  the  opening  of  term  at  the 


THE  HARD  SCHOOL  OF  THINGS  91 

Tillingworth  High  School  where  she  was  second  mistress. 
'  It  is  always  well  to  realize  the  attainments  of  young 
people  of  your  own  age,  even  if  they  are  not  in  quite  the 
same  social  grade  as  yourself.  Your  going  would  give 
pleasure  too.  It  will  be  taken  as  a  compliment  to  the  vicar 
and  the  Church — may  really,  in  a  sense,  be  called  patriotic 
since  an  acknowledgment  of  the  duty  we  owe,  individually, 
to  the  local  community  of  which  we  form  part.  And 
then,"  she  added,  naively  giving  herself  away  at  the  last, 
"  of  course,  if  you  go  over  to  the  station  in  the  brake 
Patch  cannot  make  any  difficulties  about  driving  it." 

Here  Theresa  stayed  the  torrent  of  her  eloquence  and 
looked  up,  to  find  Damaris'  eyes  fixed  upon  her  in  in- 
credulous wonder. 

"  Have  you  nothing  to  say,  dear,  in  answer  to  my  propo- 
sition ?  ' '  she  enquired,  with  a  suddenly  anxious,  edgy  little 
laugh. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  have  a  lot  to  say,  some  of  which  you 
won't  like." 

"  How  so?  "  Theresa  cried,  still  playfully.  "  You  must 
see  how  natural  and  reasonable  my  suggestion  is."  Then 
becoming  admonitory. — "  You  should  learn  to  think  a 
little  more  of  others. — It  is  a  bad  habit  to  offer  opposition 
simply  for  opposition 's  sake. ' ' 

"  I  do  not  oppose  you  for  the  mere  pleasure  of  oppos- 
ing," Damaris  began,  determined  her  voice  should  not 
shake.  "  But  I'm  sorry  to  say,  I  can't  agree  to  the  horses 
being  used  to  draw  a  loaded  brake.  I  could  not  ask  Patch. 
He  would  refuse  and  be  quite  right  in  refusing.  It's  not 
their  work — nor  his  work  either. ' ' 

She  leaned  forward,  trying  to  speak  civilly  and  gently. 

"  There  are  some  things  you  don't  quite  understand 
about  the  stables,  or  about  the  servants — the  things  which 
can't  be  done,  which  it's  impossible  to  ask. — No, — wait, 
please — please  let  me  finish  " 

For  between  astonishment,  chagrin,  and  an  inarticulate 
struggle  to  protest,  Miss  Bilson's  complexion  was  becom- 
ing almost  apoplectic  and  her  poor  fat  little  cheeks  posi- 
tively convulsed. 


92  DEADHAM  HARD 

' '  I  dislike  saying  such  disagreeable  things  to  you,  but  it 
can't  be  avoided.  It  would  be  cowardly  of  me  not  to  tell 
you  the  truth. — You  shall  have  the  brougham  the  day  after 
to-morrow,  and  I'll  write  to  Miss  Minett  in  the  morning, 
and  tell  her  you  will  call  for  her  and  her  sister,  on  your 
way  to  Marychurch,  and  that  you  will  bring  them  back 
at  night.  I  will  give  Patch  his  orders  myself,  so  that  there 
may  be  no  confusion.  And  I  will  subscribe  a  pound  to  the 
expenses  of  the  choir  treat.  That  is  all  I  can  promise  in 
the  way  of  help." 

"  But — but — Damaris,  think  of  the  position  in  which 
you  place  me!  I  cannot  be  thrust  aside  thus.  I  will  not 
submit.  It  is  so  humiliating,  so — so — I  offered  the  horses. 
I  told  the  vicar  he  might  consider  it  settled  about  the  extra 
brake  " 

"  I  knovv.  That  was  a  mistake.  You  had  no  right  to 
make  such  an  offer." 

For  justice  must  take  its  course.  Theresa  must  be  saved 
from  herself.  Still  her  implacable  young  saviour,  in  pro- 
portion as  victory  appeared  assured,  began  to  feel  sad. 
For  it  grew  increasingly  plain  that  Theresa  was  not  of  the 
stuff  of  which  warriors,  any  more  than  saints,  are  made. 
Stand  up  to  her  and  she  collapsed  like  a  pricked  bubble. — 
So  little  was  left,  a  scum  of  colourless  soap  suds,  in  which 
very  certainly  there  is  no  fight.  Again  she  showed  a  piti- 
ful being,  inviting  chivalrous  forbearance. 

"  You  are  very  hard,"  she  lamented,  "  and  you  are 
always  inclined  to  side  with  the  servants  against  me.  You 
seem  to  take  pleasure  in  undermining  my  influence,  while 
I  am  so  ready  and  anxious  to  devote  myself  to  you.  You 
know  there  is  nothing,  nothing  I  would  not  do  for  you 
and — and  for  Sir  Charles." 

Theresa  choked,  coughed,  holding  her  handkerchief  to 
her  eyes. 

"  And  what  reward  do  I  meet  with? "  she  asked 
brokenly.  ' '  At  every  turn  I  am  thwarted.  But  you  must 
give  way  in  this  case,  Damaris.  Positively  you  must.  I 
cannot  allow  myself  to  be  publicly  discredited  through 
your  self-will.  I  promised  the  horses  for  the  extra  brake. 


THE  HARD  SCHOOL  OF  THINGS  93 

The  offer  was  made  and  accepted — accepted,  yon  under- 
stand, actually  accepted.  What  will  the  vicar  say  if  the 
arrangement  is  upset?  What  will  every  one  think?  " 

Damaris  pushed  her  chair  back  from  the  table  and  rose 
to  her  feet. — Forbearance  wore  threadbare  under  accusa- 
tion and  complaint.  No,  Theresa  was  not  only  a  little  too 
abject,  but  a  little  too  disingenuous,  thereby  putting  her- 
self beyond  the  pale  of  rightful  sympathy.  Even  while  she 
protested  devotion,  self  looked  out  seeking  personal  ad- 
vantage. And  that  devotion,  in  itself,  shocked  Damaris ' 
sense  of  fitness  where  it  involved  her  father.  It  wasn't 
Theresa's  place  to  talk  of  devotion  towards  Mm! 

Moreover  the  young  girl  began,  to  feel  profoundly  im- 
patient of  all  this  to  do  and  bother.  For  wasn't  the  whole 
affair,  very  much  of  a  storm  in  a  teacup,  petty,  paltry, 
quite  unworthy  of  prolonged  discussion  such  as  this?  She 
certainly  thought  so,  in  her  youthful  fervour  and  inex- 
perience ;  while — the  push  of  awakening  womanhood  giving 
new  colour  and  richness  to  her  conception  of  life — nature 
cried  out  for  a  certain  extravagance  in  heroism,  in  large- 
ness of  action  of  aspiration.  She  was  athirst  for  noble 
horizons,  in  love  with  beauty,  with  the  magnificence  of 
things,  seen  and  unseen  alike.  In  love  with  superb  ob- 
jectives even  if  only  to  be  reached  through  a  measure  of 
suffering,  and — searching,  arresting,  though  the  thought 
was  to  her — possibly  through  peril  of  death. 

In  such  moods  there  is  small  room  for  a  Bilson  regime 
and  outlook.  A  flavour  of  scorn  marked  her  tone  as  she 
answered  at  last: 

"  Oh,  you  can  lay  the  blame  on  me — or  rather  tell  the 
truth,  which  amounts  to  the  same  thing.  Say  that,  my 
father  being  away,  I  refused  my  consent  to  the  horses 
being  taken  out.  Say  you  appealed  to  me  but  I  was  hope- 
lessly obstinate.  It  is  very  simple.'* 


CHAPTER  III 

A   SAMPLING   OF   FREEDOM 

WHEN  two  persons,   living  under  the   same   roof, 
have  the  misfortune  to  fall  out  a  hundred  and  one 
small  ways  are  ready  to  hand  for  the  infliction  of 
moral  torment.    The  weak,  it  may  be  added,  are  not  only 
far  more  addicted  to  such  inflictings  than  the  strong,  but 
far  more  resourceful  in  their  execution.    Theresa  Bilson's 
conduct  may  furnish  a  pertinent  example. 

From  the  moment  of  emerging  from  her  bed-chamber, 
next  morning,  she  adopted  an  attitude  which  she  main- 
tained until  she  regained  the  chaste  seclusion  of  that 
apartment  at  night.  During  no  instant  of  the  interven- 
ing hours  did  she  lapse  from,  studied  speechlessness  unless 
directly  addressed,  nor  depart  from  an  air  of  virtuous 
resignation  to  injustice  and  injury — quite  exquisitely  pro- 
voking to  the  onlooker.  Twice  during  the  morning 
Damaris,  upon  entering  the  schoolroom,  discovered  her 
in  tears,  which  she  proceeded  to  wipe  away,  furtively,  with 
the  greatest  ostentation. — Dramatic  effect,  on  the  second 
occasion  was,  however,  marred  by  the  fact  that  she  was 
engaged  in  retrimming  a  white  chip  hat,  encircled  by  a 
garland  of  artificial  dog-roses,  blue  glass  grapes  and  as- 
sorted foliage — an  occupation  somewhat  ill-adapted  to 
tragedy.  In  addition  to  making  her  ex-pupil — against 
whom  they  were  mainly  directed — first  miserable  and  then 
naughtily  defiant  by  these  manoeuvres,  she  alienated  any 
sympathy  which  her  red-rimmed  eyelids  and  dolorous  as- 
pect might  otherwise  have  engendered  in  the  younger  and 
less  critical  members  of  the  establishment,  by  sending 
'Alfred,  the  hall-boy,  up  to  the  vicarage  with  a  note  and 
instructions  to  wait  for  an  answer,  at  the  very  moment 
when  every  domestic  ordinance  demanded  his  absorption 

94 


THE  HARD  SCHOOL  OF  THINGS  95 

in  the  cleaning  of  knives  and  of  boots.  Being  but  human, 
Alfred  naturally  embraced  the  heaven-sent  chance  of 
dawdling,  passing  the  time  of  day  with  various  cronies, 
and  rapturously  assisting  to  hound  a  couple  of  wild,  sweat- 
ing and  snorting  steers  along  the  dusty  lane,  behind  the 
churchyard,  to  Butcher  Cleave 's  slaughter-house:  with  the 
consequence  that  his  menial  duties  devolved  upon  Laura 
and  Lizzie,  who,  supported  by  the  heads  of  their  respective 
departments,  combined  to  "  give  him  the  what  for,"  in 
no  measured  terms  upon  his  eventual  and  very  tardy 
return. 

It  is  not  too  much  to  say  that,  by  luncheon  time  Theresa 
— whether  wilfully  or  not — had  succeeded  in  setting  the 
entire  household  by  the  ears;  while  any  inclinations 
towards  peace-making,  with  which  Damaris  might  have 
begun  the  day,  were  effectively  dissipated,  leaving  her 
strengthened  and  confirmed  in  revolt.  Around  the  stables, 
and  the  proposed  indignity  put  upon  Patch  and  the  horses, 
this  wretched  quarrel  centred  so — as  at  once  a  vote  of 
confidence  and  declaration  of  independence — to  the  stables 
Damaris  finally  went  and  ordered  the  dog-cart  at  three 
o'clock.  For  she  would  drive,  and  drive,  throughout  the 
course  of  this  gilded  September  afternoon.  Drive  far 
away  from  foolishly  officious  and  disingenuous  Theresa, 
far  from  Deadham,  so  tiresome  just  now  in  its  irruption 
of  tea-parties  and  treats.  She  would  behold  peaceful  in- 
land horizons,  taste  the  freedom  of  spirit  and  the  content 
which  the  long,  smooth  buff-coloured  roads,  leading  to  un- 
known towns  and  unvisited  country-side,  so  deliciously 
give. 

She  stood  at  the  front  door,  in  blue  linen  gown,  white 
knitted  jersey  and  white  sailor  hat,  buttoning  her  tan  doe- 
skin driving-gloves,  a  gallant,  gravely  valiant  young  crea- 
ture, beautifully  unbroken  as  yet  by  any  real  assent  to  the 
manifold  foulness  of  life — her  faith  in  the  nobility  of 
human  nature  and  human  destiny  still  finely  intact.  And 
that  was  just  where  her  revolt  against  poor  Theresa  Bilson 
came  in.  For  Theresa  broke  the  accepted  law,  being  ig- 
noble; and  thereby  spoiled  the  fair  pattern,  showed  as  a 


^6  DEADHAM  HARD 

blot. — Not  that  she  meant  to  trouble  any  more  about 
Theresa  just  now.  She  was  out  simply  to  enjoy,  to  see 
and  feel,  rather  than  reason,  analyse  or  think.  So  she 
settled  herself  on  the  sloping  high-cushioned  seat,  bracing 
her  feet  against  the  driving  iron,  while  Mary,  reaching  up, 
tucked  the  dust-rug  neatly  about  her  skirts.  Patch — whose 
looks  and  figure  unmistakably  declared  his  calling — short- 
legged  and  stocky,  inclining  to  corpulence  yet  nimble  on 
his  feet,  clean  shaven,  Napoleonic  of  countenance,  passed 
reins  and  whip  into  her  hands  as  Tolling,  the  groom,  let 
go  the  horse's  head. 

The  girl  squared  her  shoulders  a  little,  and  the  soft 
colour  deepened  in  her  cheeks,  as  she  swung  the  dog-cart 
down  the  drive  and  out  of  the  entrance  gate  into  the  road 
— here  a  green-roofed  tunnel,  branches  meeting  overhead; 
thickly  carpeted  with  dry  sand  blown  inward  from  the 
beach — and  on  past  the  whitewashed  cottages,  red  brick 
and  grey  stone  houses  of  Deadham  village,  their  gardens 
pleasant  with  flowers,  and  with  apple  and  pear  trees 
weighted  down  by  fruit.  Past  the  vicarage  and  church, 
standing  apart  on  a  little  grass-grown  monticule,  backed 
by  a  row  of  elms,  which  amid  their  dark  foliage  showed 
here  and  there  a  single  bough  of  verdigris-green  or  lemon- 
yellow — first  harbingers  of  autumn.  Into  the  open  now, 
small  rough  fields  dotted  with  thorn  bushes  and  bramble- 
brakes  on  the  one  side ;  and  on  the  other  the  shining  waters 
of  the  Haven.  Through  the  hamlet  of  Lampit,  the  rear  of 
whose  dilapidated  sheds  and  dwellings  abut  on  reed-beds 
and  stretches  of  unsightly  slime  and  ooze.  A  desolate 
spot,  bleak  and  wind-swept  in  winter,  and  even  under  blue 
skies,  as  to-day  basking  in  sunshine,  degraded  by  poverty 
and  dirt. 

Some  half-mile  further  is  Horny  Cross  where,  as  the 
name  indicates,  four  roads  meet.  That  from  Deadham  to 
the  edge  of  the  forest  runs  north;  the  other,  from 
Beaupres-on-Sea  to  Marychurch,  Stourmouth  and  Barry- 
port,  due  west.  Damaris,  having  a  fancy  to  keep  the  coast- 
line out  of  sight,  chose  the  former,  following  the  valley  of 
the  Arne,  between  great  flat  meadows  where  herds  of  dairy 


THE  HARD  SCHOOL  OF  THINGS  97 

cows,  of  red  Devons  and  black  Welsh  runts,  feed  in  the 
rich  deep  grass.  In  one  place  a  curve  of  the  river  brings 
it,  for  three  hundred  yards  or  more,  close  under  the  hang- 
ing woods,  only  the  width  of  the  roadway  between  the 
broad  stream  and  living  wall  of  trees.  Here  transparent 
bluish  shadow  haunted  the  undergrowth,  and  the  air  grew 
delicately  chill,  charged  with,  the  scent  of  fern,  of  moist 
earth,  leaf  mould,  and  moss. 

Such  traffic  as  held  the  road  was  leisurely,  native  to  the 
scene  and  therefore  pleasing  to  the  sight. — For  the  age  of 
self -moving  machines  on  land  had  barely  dawned  yet; 
while  the  sky  was  still  wholly  inviolate. — A  white  tilted 
miller's  wagon,  a  brewer's  dray,  each  drawn  by  well- 
favoured  teams  with  jingling  bells  and  brass-mounted  har- 
ness, rumbling  farm  carts,  a  gypsy  van  painted  in  crude 
yellow,  blue,  and  red  and  its  accompanying  rabble  of 
children,  donkeys  and  dogs,  a  farmer's  high-hung,  curtsey- 
ing gig,  were  in  turn  met  or  passed.  For  the  black  horse, 
Damaris  driving  it,  gave  place  to  none,  covering  the  mount- 
ing tale  of  miles  handsomely  at  an  even,  swinging  trot. 

At  Lady's  Oak,  a  noble  tree  marking  some  ancient  forest 
boundary  and  consequently  spared  when  the  needs  of  the 
British  Navy,  during  the  French  wars  of  the  early  years 
of  the  century,  condemned  so  many  of  its  fellows  to  the 
axe — the  flattened  burnished  dome  of  which  glinted  back 
the  sunlight  above  a  maze  of  spreading  branches  and  mas- 
sive powder-grey  trunk — the  main  road  forks.  Damaris 
turned  to  the  left,  across  the  single-arch  stone  bridge  span- 
ning the  Arne,  and  drove  on  up  the  long  winding  ascent 
from  the  valley  to  the  moorland  and  fir  plantations  which 
range  inland  behind  Stourmouth.  This  constituted  the 
goal  of  her  journey,  for  once  the  high-lying  plateau 
reached,  leagues  of  country  open  out  far  as  the  eye  carries 
to  the  fine,  bare  outline  of  the  "Wiltshire  downs. 

She  checked  the  horse,  letting  it  walk,  while  she  took 
stock  of  her  surroundings. 

It  may  be  asserted  that  there  are  two  ways  of  holding 
converse  with  Nature.  The  one  is  egotistic  and  sentimen- 
tal, an  imposing  of  personal  tastes  and  emotions  which  be- 


98  DEADHAM  HARD 

trays  the  latent  categoric  belief  that  the  existence  of  ex- 
ternal things  is  limited  to  man's  apprehension  of  them — a 
vilely  conceited  if  not  actually  blasphemous  doctrine !  The 
other  is  that  of  the  seeker  and  the  seer,  who,  approaching 
in  all  reverence,  asks  no  more  than  leave  to  listen  to  the 
voice  of  external  things — recognizing  their  independent 
existence,  knowing  them  to  be  as  real  as  he  is,  as  wonder- 
ful, in  their  own  order  as  permanent,  possibly  as  potent 
even  for  good  and  evil  as  himself.  And  it  was,  happily, 
according  to  this  latter  reading  of  the  position,  instinc- 
tively, by  the  natural  bent  of  her  mind,  that  Damaris  at- 
tempted converse  with  the  world  without. 

The  glory  of  the  heather  had  passed,  the  bloom  now 
showing  only  as  silver-pink  froth  upon  an  ocean  of  warm 
brown.  But  the  colouring  was  restful,  the  air  here  on  the 
•dry  gravel  soil  light  and  eager,  and  the  sense  of  height  and 
space  exhilarating.  A  fringe  of  harebells,  of  orange  hawk- 
weed  and  dwarf  red  sorrel  bordered  the  road.  Every  small 
oasis  of  turf,  amongst  the  heath  and  by  the  wayside,  car- 
ried its  pretty  crop  of  centaury  and  wild  thyme,  of  bed- 
straw,  milkwort,  and  birdsfoot  trefoil.  Furzechats  tipped 
about  the  gorse  bushes,  uttering  a  sharp,  gay,  warning 
note.  A  big  flight  of  rooks,  blue-black  against  the  ethereal 
blue  of  the  distance,  winged  their  way  slowly  homeward  to 
the  long  avenue  of  dark  trees  leading  to  a  farm  in  the 
valley.  The  charm  of  the  place  was  clear  and  sane,  its 
beauty  simple  almost  to  austerity.  This  the  young  girl 
welcomed.  It  washed  her  imagination  free  of  the  curious 
questionings,  involuntary  doubts  and  suspicions,  which 
the  house  and  garden  at  The  Hard,  steeped  in  tradition, 
thick  with  past  happenings,  past  passions,  were  prone  to 
breed  in  her.  No  reek  off  the  mud-flats,  any  more  than 
over  luscious  garden  scents,  tainted  the  atmosphere.  It  was 
virgin  as  the  soil  of  the  moorland — a  soil  as  yet  untamed 
and  unfertilized  by  the  labour  of  man.  And  this  effect  of 
virginity,  even  though  a  trifle  farouche,  harsh,  and  barren 
in  the  perfection  of  its  purity,  appealed  to  Damaris' 
present  mood.  Her  spirit  leapt  to  meet  it  in  proud  fellow- 
ship. For  it  routed  forebodings.  Discounted  introspective 


THE  HARD  SCHOOL  OF  THINGS  99 

breedings.  Discounted  even  the  apparently  inevitable — 
since  nobody  and  nothing,  so  the  young  girl  told  herself 
with  a  rush  of  gladly  resolute  conviction,  is  really  inevi- 
table unless  you  permit  or  choose  to  have  them  so. — Gal- 
lant this,  and  the  mother  of  brave  doings;  though — as 
Damaris  was  to  discover  later,  to  the  increase  both  of 
wisdom  and  of  sorrow — a  half-truth  only.  For  man  is 
never  actually  master  of  people  or  of  things ;  but  master,  at 
most,  of  his  own  attitude  towards  them.  In  this  alone  can 
he  claim  or  exercise  free-will. 

Then — because  general  ideas,  however  inspiriting,  are 
rather  heavy  diet  for  the  young,  immature  minds  growing 
quickly  tired  in  the  efforts  to  digest  them — Damaris,  hav- 
ing reached  this  happy,  if  partially  erroneous,  climax  of 
emancipation,  ceased  to  philosophize  either  consciously  or 
unconsciously.  The  russet  moorland  and  spacious  land- 
scape shut  the  door  on  her,  had  no  more  to  tell  her,  no 
more  to  say.  Or,  to  be  strictly  accurate,  was  it  not  rather 
perhaps  that  her  power  of  response,  power  to  interpret 
their  speech  and  assimilate  their  message  had  reached  its 
term?  All  her  life  the  maturity  of  her  brain  had  inclined 
— rather  fatiguingly — to  outrun  the  maturity  of  her  body, 
so  that  she  failed  "  to  continue  in  one  stay  "  and  trivial 
hours  trod  close  on  the  heels  of  hours  of  exaltation  and 
of  insight. 

With  a  sigh  and  a  sense  of  loss — as  though  noble  com- 
panions had  withdrawn  themselves  from  her — she  gathered 
up  the  reins  and  sent  the  horse  forward.  She  fell  into  com- 
fortable friendly  conversation  with  the  Napoleonic-coun- 
tenanced Patch,  moreover,  consulting  him  as  to  the  shortest 
way,  through  the  purlieus  of  Stourmouth,  into  the  Mary- 
church  high  road  and  so  home  to  Deadham  Hard.  For, 
to  tell  the  truth,  she  became  aware  she  was  hungry  and 
very  badly  in  want  of  her  tea. 

Theresa  Bilson,  setting  out  the  next  morning  in  solitary 
state,  contrived  to  maintain  the  adopted  attitude  until  the 
front  gates  were  safely  passed.  Then  she  relaxed  and 
looked  out  of  the  brougham  windows  with  a  fussy  bright- 
ness more  consonant  to  the  joys  of  impending  union  with 


100  DEADHAM  HARD 

the  Miss  Minetts  and  the  day's  impending  trip.  She  made 
no  further  effort  to  secure  Damaris'  participation  in  the 
social  and  educational  advantages  which  it  promised.  On 
the  contrary  she  left  the  young  lady  severely  alone  and  at 
home,  as  one  administering  well-merited  punishment.  Thus 
effectively  demonstrating,  as  she  wished  to  believe,  her 
personal  authority ;  and  suiting,  as  she  would  have  stoutly 
denied,  her  personal  convenience.  For  Damaris  on  a 
string,  plus  the  extra  brake  and  carriage  horses,  was  one 
story ;  Damaris  on  her  own,  minus  those  animals  and  much- 
debated  vehicle,  quite  another.  Unless  the  presence  of 
her  ex-pupil  could  be  made  to  redound  to  her  own  glory, 
Theresa  much  preferred  reserving  representation  of  The 
Hard  and  its  distinguished  proprietor  wholly  and  solely 
to  herself.  So  in  the  spirit  of  pretence  and  of  make-believe 
did  she  go  forth ;  to  find,  on  her  return,  that  spirit  prove 
but  a  lying  and  treacherous  ally — and  for  more  reasons 
than  one. 

It  happened  thus.  Supported  by  the  two  brindled  tabby 
house  cats,  Geraldine  and  Mustapha — descendants  of  the 
numerous  tribe  honoured,  during  the  last  half-century  of 
his  long  life,  by  Thomas  Clarkson  Verity's  politely  affec- 
tionate patronage — Damaris  spent  the  greater  part  of  the 
morning  in  the  long  writing  room. 

She  had  judged  and  condemned  Theresa  pretty  roundly 
it  is  true,  nevertheless  she  felt  a  little  hurt  and  sore  at 
the  latter 's  treatment  of  her.  Theresa  need  not  have  kept 
up  the  quarrel  till  the  very  last  so  acridly.  After  all,  as 
she  was  going  out  purely  for  own  pleasure  and  amuse- 
ment, she  might  have  found  something  nice  and  civil  to 
say  at  parting.  And  then  the  mere  fact  of  being  left  be- 
hind, of  being  out  of  it,  however  limited  the  charms  of  a 
party,  has  a  certain  small  stab  to  it  somehow — as  most 
persons,  probing  youthful  experiences,  can  testify.  It  is 
never  quite  pleasant  to  be  the  one  who  doesn't  go! — The 
house,  moreover,  when  her  father  was  absent,  always  re- 
minded Damaris  of  an  empty  shrine,  a  place  which  had  lost 
its  meaning  and  purpose.  To-day,  though  windows  and 
doors  were  wide  open  letting  in  a  wealth  of  sunshine,  it 


THE  HARD  SCHOOL  OF  THINGS          101 

appeared  startlingly  lifeless  and  void.  The  maids  seemed 
unusually  quiet.  She  heard  no  movement  on  the  stair- 
case or  in  the  rooms  above.  Neither  gardener  nor  garden- 
boy  was  visible.  She  would  have  hailed  the  whirr  of  the 
mowing  machine  or  swish  of  a  broom  on  the  lawn. — Oh !  if 
only  her  poor  dear  Nannie  were  still  alive,  safe  upstairs, 
there  in  the  old  nursery! 

And  at  that  the  child  Damaris  felt  a  lump  rise  in  her 
throat.  But  the  girl,  the  soon-to-be  woman,  Damaris 
choked  .  it  down  bravely.  For  nobody,  nothing — so  she 
assured  herself,  going  back  to  the  lesson  learned  yester- 
day upon  the  open  moorland — is  really  inevitable  unless 
you  suffer  or  will  it  so  to  be.  "Wherefore  she  stiffened  her- 
self against  recognition  of  loneliness,  stiffened  herself 
against  inclination  to  mourning,  refused  to  acquiesce  in  or 
be  subjugated  by  either  and,  to  the  better  forgetting  of 
them,  sought  consolation  among  her  great-great  uncle's 
books. 

For  at  this  period  Damaris  was  an  omnivorous  reader, 
eager  for  every  form  of  literature  and  every  description 
of  knowledge — whether  clearly  comprehended  or  not — 
which  the  beloved  printed  page  has  to  give.  An  eager- 
ness, it  may  be  noted,  not  infrequently  productive  of  col- 
lisions with  Theresa,  and  at  this  particular  juncture  all 
the  more  agreeable  to  gratify  on  that  very  account.  For 
Theresa  would  have  had  her  walk  only  in  the  narrow, 
sheltered,  neatly  bordered  paths  of  history  and  fiction  de- 
signed, for  the  greater  preservation  of  female  innocence, 
by  such  authors  as  Miss  Sewell,  Miss  Strickland,  and  Miss 
Yonge.  Upon  Damaris,  however,  perambulation  of  those 
paths  palled  too  soon.  Her  intellect  and  heart  alike  de- 
manded wider  fields  of  drama,  of  religion  and  of  science, 
above  all  wider  and  less  conventional  converse  with 
average  human  nature,  than  this  triumvirate  of  Victorian 
sibyls  was  willing  or  capable  to  supply.  It  is  undeniable 
that,  although  words  and  phrases,  whole  episodes  indeed, 
were  obscure  even  unintelligible  to  her,  she  found  the 
memoirs  of  Benvenuto  Cellini  and  Saint  Simon  more  in- 
teresting than  the  "  Lives  of  the  Queens  of  England; 


LL02  DEADHAM  HARD 

Vathek, ' '  more  to  her  taste  than  ' '  Amy  Herbert ' ' ;  and, 
if  the  truth  must  be  told,  "  The  Decameron,"  and  "  Tris- 
tram Shandy  "  more  satisfying  to  her  imagination  than 
"  The  Heir  of  Redcliffe  "  or  "The  Daisy  Chain."  To 
Damaris  it  seemed,  just  now,  that  a  book  the  meaning  of 
which  was  quite  clear  to  her  and  could  be  grasped  at  sight, 
hardly  repaid  the  trouble  of  reading,  since  it  afforded  no 
sense  of  adventure,  no  excitement  of  challenge  or  of 
pursuit,  no  mirage  of  wonder,  no  delightful  provocation 
of  matters  outside  her  experience  and  not  understood. 
About  these  latter  she  abstained  from  asking  questions, 
having  much  faith  in  the  illuminating  power  of  the  future. 
Given  patience,  all  in  good  time  she  would  understand 
everything  worth  understanding. — That  there  are  things 
in  life  best  not  understood,  or  understood  only  at  your 
peril,  she  already  in  some  sort  divined. — Hence  her  reading 
although  of  the  order  obnoxious  to  pedants,  as  lacking 
in  method  and  accurate  scholarship,  went  to  produce  a 
mental  atmosphere  in  which  honest  love  of  letters  and  of 
art,  along  with  generous  instincts  of  humanity  quicken 
and  thrive. 

On  this  particular  morning  Damaris  elected  to  explore 
to  the  Near  East,  in  the  vehicle  of  Eothen's  virile  and 
luminous  prose.  She  sat  in  one  of  the  solid  wide  seated 
arm-chairs  at  the  fire-place  end  of  a  long  room,  near  a 
rounded  window,  the  lower  sash  of  which  she  raised  to  its 
full  height.  Outside  the  row  of  geranium  beds  glowed 
scarlet  and  crimson  in  the  calm  light.  Beyond  them  the 
turf  of  the  lawn  was  overspread  by  trailing  gossamers, 
and  delicate  cart-wheel  spider's  webs  upon  which  the  dew 
still  glittered.  In  the  shrubberies  robins  sang;  and  above 
the  river  great  companies  of  swallows  swept  to  and  fro, 
with  sharp  twitterings,  restlessly  gathering  for  their  final 
southern  flight. 

No  sooner  had  Damaris  fairly  settled  down  with  her 
book,  than  Mustapha  jumped  upon  her  knees;  and  after, 
preliminary  buttings  and  tramplings,  curled  himself  round 
in  gross  comfort,  his  soft  lithe  body  growing  warmer  and 
heavier,  on  her  lap,  as  his  sleep  deepened.  Where  a  bar 


103 

of  sunshine  crossed  the  leather  inset  of  the  writing-table, 
just  beside  her  in  the  window,  Geraldine — his  counterpart 
as  to  markings  and  colouring,  but  finer  made,  more  slender 
of  barrel  and  of  limb — fitted  herself  into  the  narrow  space 
between  a  silver  inkstand  and  a  stack  of  folded  news- 
papers, her  fore-paws  tucked  neatly  under  her  chest,  furry 
elbows  outward.  Her  muzzle  showed  black,  as  did  the  rims 
of  her  eyelids  which  enhanced  the  brightness  and  size  of 
her  clear,  yellow-green  eyes.  Her  alert,  observant  little 
head  was  raised,  as,  with  gently  lashing  tail,  she  watched  an 
imprisoned  honey-bee  buzzing  angrily  up  and  down  be- 
tween the  window-sashes. 

An  elfin  creature,  Geraldine, — repaying  liberal  study. 
Scornfully  secure  of  the  potency  of  her  own  charms  where 
mankind,  or  Tomcat-kind,  might  be  concerned,  royally 
devoid  of  morals,  past-mistress  in  all  sprightly,  graceful, 
feline  devilries,  she  was  yet  a  fond  mother,  solicitous  to 
the  point  of  actual  selflessness  regarding  the  safety  and 
well-being  of  her  successive  and  frequently  recurrent  lit- 
ters. She  suckled,  washed,  played  with  and  educated  those 
of  her  kittens  who  escaped  the  rigours  of  stable-bucket  and 
broom,  until  such  time  as  they  were  three  to  four  months 
old.  After  which  she  sent  them  flying,  amid  cuffings  and 
spittings  extraordinary,  whenever  they  attempted  to  ap- 
proach her;  and,  oblivious  of  their  orphaned  and  wist- 
ful existence,  yielded  herself  with  bewitching  vivacity,  to 
fresh  intrigues  and  amours  new. 

The  long  quiet  morning  indoors,  with  cats  and  books 
for  company,  at  once  soothed  Damaris  and  made  her  rest- 
less. After  luncheon  she  put  on  hat,  gloves,  and  walking 
shoes,  and  went  down  across  the  lawn  to  the  sea-wall. 
Waylaying  her  in  the  hall,  Mary  had  essayed  to  learn  her 
programme,  and  anchor  her  as  to  time  and  place  by  en- 
quiring when  and  where  tea  should  be  served.  But 
Damaris  put  the  kindly  woman  off. — She  couldn't  say 
exactly — yet — would  ring  and  let  Mary  know  when  she 
came  in.  If  any  one  called,  she  was  not  at  home. 

In  truth  her  active  young  body  asked  for  movement  and 
exercise,  while  scenes  and  phrases  from  the  pages  of 


104  DEADHAM  HARD 

Eothen  still  filled  her  mind.  She  longed  for  travel.  Not 
via  Marychurch  to  Harchester,  well  understood,  shep- 
herded by  Theresa  Bilson,  the  members  of  the  Deadham 
Church  choir  and  their  supporters;  but  for  travel  upon 
the  grand  scale,  with  all  its  romance  and  enlargement  of 
experience,  its  possible  dangers  and  certain  hardships,  as 
the  author  of  Eothen  had  known  it  and  her  father,  for 
that  matter,  had  known  it  in  earlier  days  too.  She  suffered 
the  spell  of  the  East — always  haunting  the  chambers  of 
her  memory  and  ready  to  be  stirred  in  active  ascendency, 
as  by  her  morning's  reading  to-day — suffered  the  spell 
not  of  its  mysterious  cities  and  civilizations  alone,  but  of 
its  vast  solitudes  and  silences,  desert  winds  and  desert 
Bands. 

And  hence  it  came  about  that,  as  her  mood  of  yester- 
day sent  her  inland  to  pacify  her  imagination  by  gazing 
at  the  peaceful  English  country-side,  so  her  present  mood 
Bent  her  down  to  the  shore  to  satisfy,  or  rather  further 
stimulate,  her  nostalgia  for  the  East  by  gazing  out  to  sea. 

The  cause  in  both  cases  was  the  same,  namely,  the  in- 
ward tumult  of  her  awakening  womanhood,  and  still  more, 
perhaps,  the  tumult  of  awakening  talent  which  had  not 
as  yet  found  its  appointed  means  of  expression.  She  was 
driven  hither  and  thither  by  the  push  of  her  individuality 
to  disengage  itself  from  adventitious  surroundings  and 
circumstances,  and  realize  its  independent  existence. — A 
somewhat  perilous  crisis  of  development,  fruitful  of 
escapades  and  unruly  impulses  which  may  leave  their 
mark,  and  that  a  disfiguring  one,  upon  the  whole  of  a 
woman's  subsequent  career. 

Immediately,  however,  Damans'  disposition  to  defy 
established  convention  and  routine  took  the  mildest  and 
apparently  most  innocuous  form — merely  the  making,  by 
herself,  of  a  little  expedition  which,  accompanied  by  others, 
she  had  made  a  hundred  times  before.  From  the  terrace 
she  went  down  the  flight  of  steps,  built  into  the  width  of 
the  sea-wall,  whence  a  tall  wrought-iron  gate  opens  direct 
upon  the  foreshore.  Closing  it  behind  her,  she  followed 
the  coastguard-path,  at  the  base  of  the  river-bank — here  a 


THE  HARD  SCHOOL  OF  THINGS          105 

miniature  sand  cliff  capped  with  gravel,  from  eight  to 
ten  feet  high — which  leads  to  the  warren  and  the  ferry. 
For  she  would  take  ship,  with  foxy-faced  "William  Jennifer 
as  captain  and  as  crew,  cross  to  the  broken-down  wooden 
jetty  and,  landing  there,  climb  the  crown  of  the  Bar  and 
look  south-east,  over  the  Channel  highway,  towards  far 
distant  countries  of  the  desert  and  the  dawn. 


CHAPTER  IV 

OUT    ON    THE    BAR 

AJL  which  was  duly  accomplished  though  with  a  dif- 
ference. For  on  reaching  the  head  of  the  shallow 
sandy  gully  opening  on  the  tide,  where  the  flat-bot- 
tomed ferryboat  lay,  Damaris  found  not  Jennifer  but  the 
withered  and  doubtfully  clean  old  lobster-catcher,  Timothy 
Proud,  in  possession.  This  disconcerted  her  somewhat. 
His  appearance,  indeed — as  he  stood  amongst  a  miscellane- 
ous assortment  of  sun-bleached  and  weather-stained  fore- 
shore lumber,  leaning  the  ragged  elbows  of  his  blue  jersey 
upon  the  top  of  an  empty  petroleum  barrel  and  smoking  a 
dirty  clay  pipe — was  so  far  from  inviting,  that  the  young 
girl  felt  tempted  to  relinquish  her  enterprise  and  go  back 
by  the  way  she  had  come. 

But,  as  she  hesitated,  the  old  man  catching  sight  of  her 
and  scenting  custom,  first  spat  and  then  called  aloud. 

"  Might  'e  be  wanting  the  Ferry,  Miss?  "  Thus  directly 
challenged,  Damaris  could  not  but  answer  in  the  affirma- 
tive. 

"  Put  'e  across  to  the  Bar?  "  he  took  her  up  smartly. 
"  Nat 'rally  I  will — bean't  I  here  for  the  very  purpose? — 
Put  'e  across  I  will  and  on  the  tick  too. ' ' 

And,  after  further  expectoration,  relinquishing  the  sup- 
port of  the  oil  barrel,  he  joined  her  and  shambled  down 
the  sandy  track  at  her  side,  talking.  Damaris  hastened 
her  step ;  but  bent  back  and  creaking  breath  notwithstand- 
ing, Proud  kept  pace  with  her,  his  speech  and  movements 
alike  animated  by  a  certain  malicious  glee. 

"  William  'e  give  hisself  an  'oliday,"  he  explained,  "  to 
take  the  little  dorgs  and  ferrets  up  to  Butcher  Cleave's 
ratting.  Powerful  sight  of  varmin  there  allers  be  round 

100 


THE  HARD  SCHOOL  OF  THINGS          107 

they  sheds  and  places.  Comes  after  the  innards  and  trim- 
mings they  do,  as  bold  as  you  please." 

"  Oh,  yes — no  doubt.  I  understand,"  Damans  said,  at 
once  anxious  to  arrest  the  flow  of  his  unsavoury  eloquence 
yet  to  appear  civil,  since  she  was  about  to  make  use  of  his 
services. 

"  'Normous  great  rats  they  be,"  he  however  continued, 
with  evident  relish.  "  'Normous  and  fierce  as  tigers,  the 
rascals,  what  with  feasting  on  flesh  and  fatness  like  so 
many  lords.  So  '  mind  the  ferry  for  me,  will  you,  Daddy, ' 
William  says,  coming  round  where  was  I  taking  my  morn- 
ing pint  over  at  the  Inn.  *  You're  a  wonderful  valorous 
man  of  your  years  ' — and  so  thank  the  powers,  Miss,  I  be 
— '  can  handle  the  old  scraw  as  clever  as  I  can  myself,' 
William  says.  '  There  ain't  much  about  water,  salt  or 
fresh,  nor  whatsoever  moves  on  the  face  ofi  it,  nor  down 
below  in  the  belly  of  it,  any  man  can  teach  you.'  Which 
may  seem  putting  it  a  bit  high  yet  ain't  no  more  than 
truth  and  justice,  Miss,  so  you  needn't  fear  to  trust  your- 
self across  the  ferry  along  of  me." 

"  I  have  no  fear,"  Damaris  answered  curtly  and  loftily, 
holding  herself  very  erect,  her  face  slightly  flushed,  her 
eyes  war-like. 

For  he  was  a  repulsive  old  man,  and  said  repulsive  things 
such  as  she  had  never  heard  put  thus  plainly  into  words 
before.  She  felt  soiled  by  even  this  brief  association  with 
him.  She  wanted  to  hear  no  more  of  his  ugly  high-coloured 
talk,  although  of  his  skill  as  a  waterman  she  entertained  no 
doubt.  Stepping  lightly  and  quickly  up  on  to  the  square 
stern  of  the  ferry-boat,  she  went  forward  and  kept  her 
back  resolutely  turned  upon  the  old  fellow  as  he  scrambled 
on  board  after  her,  shoved  off  and  settled  to  the  oars.  The 
river  was  low,  and  sluggish  from  the  long  drought  with 
consequently  easy  passage  to  the  opposite  bank.  It  took 
but  a  short  five  minutes  to  reach  the  jetty,  crawling  like 
some  gigantic,  damaged,  many-legged  insect  out  over  the 
smooth  gleaming  water. 

Instead  of  the  legal  twopence,  Damaris  dropped  a  couple 
of  shillings  into  Daddy  Proud 's  eager  hand — with  a 


108  DEADHAM  HARD 

queenly  little  air;  and,  without  waiting  for  his  thanks, 
swung  herself  up  on  to  the  black  planking  and  turned  to  go 
down  the  sand-strewn  wooden  steps. 

"  Pleased  to  fetch,  'e  back,  Miss,  any  hour  you  like  to 
name,"  Proud  called  after  her,  standing  up  and  fingering 
the  shillings  with  one  hand  while  with  the  other  he  steered 
the  boat's  side  away  from  the  slippery  weed-grown  piles. 

"  Thank  you,  I  don't  quite  know  when  I  shall  be  back," 
she  answered  over  her  shoulder. 

For  her  main  desire  was  to  get  quit  of  his  unpleasant 
neighbourhood.  She  would  go  for  a  long  walk  by  the 
coast-guard  path  across  the  sandhills,  right  out  to  Stone 
Horse  Head.  Would  stay  out  till  sundown,  in  the  hope 
that  by  then  Jennifer  might  have  seen  fit  to  exchange  the 
manly  joys  of  ratting  for  his  more  prosaic  duties  at  the 
ferry,  and  so  save  her  from  further  association  with  his 
displeasing  deputy. 

But,  the  ridge  of  the  Bar  reached,  other  thoughts  and 
impulses  took  possession  of  her.  For  the  sea  this  afternoon 
showed  an  infinitely  beguiling  countenance.  Not  as  high- 
way of  the  nations,  still  less  as  violent  and  incalculable, 
holding  cruelties  of  storm  and  tempest  in  its  heart,  did  it 
present  itself  to  her  view ;  but  rather  as  some  gentle,  softly 
inviting  and  caressing  creature  decked  forth  in  the  change- 
ful colours  of  a  dove's  neck  and  breast.  Opaline  haze 
veiled  the  horizon,  shutting  off  all  unrestful  sense  of  dis- 
tance. The  tide  was  low  and  little  waves,  as  of  liquid 
crystal,  chased  one  another  over  the  gleaming  sands.  Out 
to  where  the  haze  met  and  covered  it  the  smooth  expanse 
of  sea  was  unbroken  by  passing  boat  or  ship;  nor  was 
any  person  within  sight  upon  the  long  line  of  the  beach. 
Damaris  found  herself  alone — but  deliciously  alone,  with 
this  enchanted  dream  sea  for  companion  in  the  sunshine, 
under  the  vault  of  tender  blue  sky. 

And,  for  the  present  at  least,  she  asked  nothing  better, 
humanity  being  at  a  decided  discount  with  her,  thanks 
first  to  the  extreme  tiresomeness  of  Theresa  Bilson  and 
later  the  extreme  unsavouriness  of  Timothy  Proud.  The 
human  element  thus  eliminated,  nothing  interfered,  nothing 


THE  HARD  SCHOOL  OF  THINGS          109 

jarred ;  so  that  she  could  yield  herself  to  an  ecstasy  of  con- 
templation, active  rather  than  passive,  in  that  imagina- 
tion, breaking  the  bounds  of  personality,  made  her 
strangely  one  with  all  she  looked  on.  Consciousness  of 
self  was  merged  in  pure  delight.  Never  could  she  remem- 
ber to  have  felt  so  light-hearted,  so  happy  with  the  spon- 
taneous, unconditioned  happiness  which  is  sufficient  to 
itself,  unclouded  by  thought  of  what  has  been  or  what 
may  be. 

Pushed  by  her  own  radiant  emotion  and  an  instinct, 
deriving  from  it,  to  draw  even  closer  to  that  Everlasting 
Beauty  of  Things  which  is  uncreated  by  and  independent 
of  the  will  and  work  of  man,  she  ran  down  the  slope,  and 
sitting  on  the  shingle  slipped  off  her  shoes  and  stockings. 
Took  off  her  hat,  too,  and  leaving  the  lot  lying  there,  just 
above  high-tide  mark,  gathered  her  skirts  in  one  hand,  and, 
bareheaded  thus  and  barefooted,  danced  out  over  the  wet 
gleaming  sands  a  graceful  flying  figure,  until  the  little 
waves  played  and  purred  about  her  ankles.  Her  action 
was  symbolic,  born  of  the  gay  worship  welling  up  within 
her,  a  giving  of  herself  to  the  shining  infinite  of  Nature 
as  just  now  manifest — things  divine  and  eternal  glimmer- 
ing through  at  her — in  this  fair  hour  of  solitude  and  brood- 
ing peace. 

Till  her  mood  softened,  Damaris  danced  thus  alone,  un- 
witnessed on  the'  shore.  Then,  as  she  sobered,  happy  still 
though  the  crisis  of  ecstasy  had  passed,  smaller  seeings 
began  to  charm  her  fancy  and  her  eyes. — Pinkish  yellow 
starfish,  long  ribbons  of  madder-red  or  emerald  seaweed, 
their  colours  the  more  living  and  vivid  for  the  clear  water 
covering  them.  Presently  a  company  of  five  birds — their 
mottled  brown  and  olive  bodies  raised  on  stilt-like  legs 
thin  as  a  straw — claimed  her  notice.  So  bewitched  was  she 
by  their  quaint  and  pretty  ways,  that  she  could  not  but 
follow  them  as  they  chased  one  another  in  and  out  of  the 
rippling  waves,  ran  quickly  and  bowed  catching  something 
eatable  floating  upon  the  tide,  scattered  and  then  joined 
up  into  a  joyous  chorus  of  association  with  gentle  twitter- 
ing cries.  Watching  them,  dreaming,  standing  now  and 


110  DEADHAM  HARD 

again  looking  out  over  the  sweet  wonder  of  the  placid  sea, 
sometimes  wading  ankle  deep,  sometimes  walking  on  the 
firm  floor  of  uncovered  sand,  Damaris  passed  onward 
losing  count  of  time. 

The  birds  led  her  eastward,  up  channel,  to  the  half-mile 
distant  nose  of  the  Bar,  round  which  the  rivers,  released 
at  last  from  their  narrow  channel,  sweep  out  into  Mary- 
church  Bay.  Here,  on  a  sudden,  they  took  wing,  and 
Damaris  looking  after  them,  bade  them  an  unwilling  fare- 
well, for  their  innocent  society  had  been  sweet.  And  with 
that  she  became  aware  she  was  really  quite  tired  and  would 
be  glad  to  rest  awhile,  the  afternoon  being  young  yet, 
before  turning  homeward.  The  longer  she  stayed  the 
more  hope  there  was  of  finding  Jennifer  at  the  ferry ;  and 
more  than  ever,  the  glamour  of  her  wild  hour  of  Nature 
worship  still  upon  her,  did  she  recoil  from  any  sort  of 
association  with  foul  old  Timothy  Proud. 

Therefore  she  went  up  across  the  moist  gleaming  levels 
to  the  tide-line,  and  picking  her  way  carefully  among  the 
black  jumble  of  seaweed  and  sea-litter  which  marked  it, 
sat  down  in  a  fan-shaped  depression  in  the  dry,  clean, 
blown  sand  some  few  paces  above.  The  sunshine  covered 
it  making  it  warm  to  her  bare  feet.  The  feel  and  blond 
colour  of  it  brought  to  mind  her  reading  of  this  morning 
— a  passage  in  Eothen  telling  of  the  striking  of  camp  at 
dawn,  the  desert  waiting  to  claim  its  own  again  and  oblit- 
erate, with  a  single  gesture,  all  sign  or  token  of  the  pass- 
ing sojourn  of  man.  Clasping  her  hands  behind  her  head, 
Damaris  lay  back,  the  warm  sand  all  around  her,  giving 
beneath  her  weight,  fitted  itself  into  the  curves  of  her 
body  and  limbs — only  it  visible  and  the  soft,  blue  of  the 
sky  above.  For  a  little  while  she  rested  open-eyed  in  the 
bright  silent  stillness,  and  then,  unknowing  of  the  exact 
moment  of  surrender,  she  stretched  with  a  fluttering  sigh, 
turned  on  her  side  and  dreamlessly  slept. 

And,  while  she  thus  slept,  two  events  took  place  emi- 
nently germane  to  the  further  unfolding  of  this  history. 
— The  weather  changed,  and  the  local  degenerate,  Abram 
Sclanders'  half -idiot  son — the  poor  "  lippity-lop  "  who, 


THE  HARD  SCHOOL  OF  THINGS          111 

according  to  Jennifer,  had  far  better  been  "  put  away 
quiet-like  at  birth  " — committed  theft. 

Of  the  first  event,  Damaris  gradually  became  sensi- 
ble, before  her  actual  awakening.  She  grew  restless,  her 
bed  of  sand  seeming  robbed  of  comfort,  bleak  and  uneasy, 
so  that  she  started  up,  presently,  into  a  sitting  position, 
rubbing  her  eyes  with  her  fists  baby-fashion,  unable  for 
the  minute  to  imagine  how  or  why  she  came  to  be  lying 
like  this  out  on  the  Bar,  hatless,  shoe  and  stockingless. 
Looking  about  her,  still  in  questioning  bewilderment,  she 
observed  that  in  the  south-west  a  great  bank  of  cloud  had 
risen.  It  blotted  out  the  sun,  deadening  all  colour.  The 
opaline  haze,  turned  to  a  dull  falling  mist,  closed  down 
and  in,  covering  the  sandhills  and  the  dark  mass  of  Stone 
Horse  Head  and  even  blurring  the  long  straight  lines  of 
the  sandbank  and  nearer  shingle.  The  sea  had  risen,  but 
noiselessly,  creeping  up  and  up  towards  her,  no  line  of 
white  marking  the  edge  of  its  slothful  oncoming. 

Damaris  stood  up,  pulling  her  white  jersey — the  surface 
of  it  already  furred  with  moisture — low  over  her  hips. 
For  she  felt  shivery,  and  the  air  was  thick  and  chill  to 
breathe  causing  a  tightness  in  her  throat. 

"  The  glory  has  departed,  very  much  departed,  so  I 
had  best  make  haste  to  depart  also,"  she  told  herself; 
but  told  herself  gallantly,  smiling  at  her  own  strange 
plight  in  a  spirit  of  adventure,  discovering  in  it  the  excite- 
ment of  novel  experience. 

She  picked  her  way  over  the  shingle  and  black  sea  litter 
of  high-water  mark,  and  started  to  run  along  the  narrow 
strip  between  it  and  the  advancing  tide.  To  run  would 
circulate  her  blood,  warm  her  through  and  keep  her  gallant 
humour  up ;  still  she  had  to  own  she  found  this  heavy 
going,  for  her  feet  were  nusib  and  the  sand  seemed  to 
pluck  at  and  weigh  them  down.  Her  run  slackened  to  a 
walk.  Then  she  ventured  a  yard  or  two  out  into  the 
shallow  water,  hoping  there  to  meet  with  firmer  foothold; 
but  here  it  proved  altogether  too  cold.  She  had  the  mis- 
fortune, moreover,  to  tread  on  the  top  end  of  a  razor  shell, 
buried  upright,  which  cut  the  skin  making  her  limp  from 


112  DEADHAM  HARD 

pain  and  sharpness  of  smarting.  So  perforce,  she  took 
to  the  deep  blown  sand  again  above  high-water  mark,  and 
ploughed  along  slowly  enough  in  growing  weariness  and 
discomfort. 

Never,  surely,  was  any  half-mile  so  long  as  this  between 
the  place  of  her  farewell  to  the  mottled  stilt-legged  birds 
and  subsequent  sleeping,  and  the  place  where  she  left 
her  hat  and  shoes  and  stockings !  In  the  dimness  and  chill 
of  the  falling  mist,  it  seemed  to  lengthen  and  lengthen  to 
an  altogether  incomprehensible  extent.  Time  and  again 
she  stopped  and  scanned  the  ground  immediately  before 
her,  certain  she  should  see  there  those  so  lightly  discarded 
and  now  so  earnestly  desired  items  of  clothing.  Once  in 
possession  of  them  she  would  simply  scurry  home.  For 
visions  of  warm,  dry  pretty  garments,  of  Mary's,  comely 
ministering  presence,  of  tea,  of  lamp-light  and — yes,  she 
would  allow  herself  that  culminating  luxury — of  a  fine  log 
fire  in  the  long  sitting-room,  presented  themselves  to  her 
imagination  in  most  alluring  sequence — the  spirit  of  ad- 
venture, meanwhile,  as  must  be  owned,  beginning  to  sing 
small  and  hang  a  diminished  head. 

But  on  a  sudden,  raising  her  eyes  from  their  persistent 
search,  Damaris  realized  she  must  have  missed  and  already 
passed  the  spot.  For  she  was  close  upon  the  tract  of  sand- 
hills— a  picture  of  desolation  in  the  sullen  murk,  the  wind- 
ing hollows  between  their  pale  formless  elevations  bearing 
a  harsh  growth  of  neutral  tinted  sword-like  grasses. 

She  had  come  too  far  by  a  quarter  of  a  mile  at  least, 
so  she  judged,  and  must  turn  her  face  eastward  again  and 
laboriously  plough  her  way  back.  But  the  return  journey 
was  crowned  with  no  better  success  than  the  outward  one. 
Carefully,  methodically  she  quartered  the  beach;  but 
simply  her  things  weren't  there,  had  vanished,  leaving 
neither  token  or  trace. 

She  was  confronted  moreover  by  the  unpleasant  fact  that 
it  grew  late.  Soon  the  dusk  would  fall,  its  coming  hastened 
by  the  mist,  now  settling  into  a  steady  drizzle  of  rain  pre- 
cursor of  a  dark  and  early  night.  To  hunt  any  longer 
would  be  useless.  She  must  give  it  up.  Yet  her  maidenly 


THE  HARD  SCHOOL  OF  THINGS          113 

pride,  her  sense  of  what  is  seemly  and  becoming,  revolted 
from  exposing  herself  to  Timothy  Proud 's  coarse  leering 
glances  or  even — should  he  by  luck  be  her  waterman — to 
Jennifer's  more  respectful  curiosity,  dishevelled  and  but 
half-dressed  as  she  was.  And  then  the  actual  distance  to 
be  traversed  appeared  to  her  dishearteningly  great.  For 
she  was  weary — quite  abominably  weary  now  she  came  to 
think  of  it.  Her  feet  were  bruised  and  blistered.  They 
ached.  Her  throat  ached  too,  and  she  shivered.  Cold, 
though  it  was,  she  must  wait  a  minute  or  two  and  rest 
before  attempting  the  ascent  of  the  slope. 

Damaris  sat  down,  pulling  her  skirts  as  low  as  they 
would  come  over  her  bare  legs,  and  clasping  her  hands 
round  her  knees,  bowed,  huddled  together  to  gain,  if  it 
might  be,  some  sensation  of  warmth.  For  a  little  she 
thought  of  that  only — warmth — her  mind  otherwise  a 
blank.  But  soon  the  consuming  sadness  of  the  place  in  the 
waning  light  penetrated  her  imagination,  penetrated,  in- 
deed, her  whole  being.  Only  a  few  hours  ago  she  had 
danced  here,  in  ecstasy  born  of  the  sunshine,  the  colour, 
the  apparently  inexhaustible  beauty  of  things  uncreated 
by,  and  independent  of,  the  will  and  work  of  man.  Con- 
trast that  scene,  and  the  radiant  emotion  evoked  by  it, 
with  this?  Which  was  real,  the  enduring  revelation? 
Was  this  truth;  the  other  no  more  than  mirage — an  ex- 
quisite dissembling  and  lovely  lie? 

Such  thoughts  are  hardly  wholesome  at  eighteen — hardly 
wholesome  perhaps  at  any  age,  if  life  is  to  be  lived  sweetly, 
with  honest  profit  to  one's  own  soul  and  to  the  souls  of 
others.  Yet  remembering  back,  down  the  dim  avenues  of 
childhood,  Damaris  knew  she  did  not  formulate  the  ques- 
tion, entertain  the  suspicion,  for  the  first  time.  Only, 
until  now,  it  had  stayed  in  the  vague,  a  shapeless  night- 
mare horror,  past  which  she  could  force  herself  to  run 
with  shut  eyes.  It  didn't  jump  out  of  the  vague,  thank 
goodness,  and  bar  her  passage.  But  now  no  running  or 
shutting  of  eyes  availed.  It  had  jumped  out.  She  stared 
at  it,  and,  in  all  its  undermining  power  of  discourage- 
ment, it  stared  back. — What  if  the  deepest  thing,  the  thing 


114  DEADHAM  HARD 

which  alone  lasted,  the  thing  which,  therefore,  you  were 
bound  in  the  end  to  accept,  to  submit  to,  was  just  dark- 
ness, sorrow,  loneliness  of  worn  body  and  shrinking  spirit, 
by  the  shore  of  a  cold,  dumb,  and  tenantless,  limitless  sea 
—what  then? 

From  which  undesirable  abyss  of  speculation  she  was 
aroused  by  the  sound  of  her  own  name — ' '  Damaris  Verity, 
hey — Damaris  Verity  " — shouted,  not  roughly  though  in 
tones  of  urgent  command,  from  above  and  behind  her  on 
the  crest  of  the  Bar.  Along  with  it  came  the  rattle  of 
shifting  shingle  under  a  strong  active  tread. 

Hearing  which  the  young  girl's  senses  and  faculties  alike 
sprang  to  attention.  She  rose  from  her  dejected  attitude, 
stood  up  and  faced  round,  forgetful  of  aches  and  weariness 
and  of  woeful  ultimate  questionings,  while  in  glad  surprise 
her  heart  went  out  to  meet  and  welcome  the — to  her — 
best  beloved  being  in  this,  no  longer,  sorry  world. 

For  even  thus,  at  some  fifty  yards  distant  through  the 
blur  of  falling  rain,  the  figure  presented  to  her  gaze,  in 
height,  build,  and  fashion  of  moving,  was  delightfully 
familiar,  as  were  the  tones  of  the  voice  which  had  hailed 
her — if  in  not  quite  equal  degree  the  manner  of  that  hail. 
Some  change  in  his  plans  must  have  taken  place,  or  some 
letter  miscarried  advising  her  of  her  father's  earlier  re- 
turn. Finding  her  out  he  had  come  to  look  for  her. — This 
was  perfectly  as  it  should  be.  Had  Colonel  Carteret  come 
home  with  him,  she  wondered.  And  then  there  flashed 
through  her,  with  a  singular  vividness,  recollection  of 
another,  long,  long  ago  escapade — when  as  a  still  almost 
baby  child  she  had  stepped  off  alone,  in  daring  experi- 
ment, and  fallen  asleep,  in  the  open  as  to-day.  But  in 
surroundings  how  amazingly  different ! — A  place  of  foun- 
tains, cypresses  and  palms,  she  curled  up  in  a  black 
marble  chair,  set  throne  fashion,  upon  a  platform  of  blood 
red  sandstone,  an  age-old  Oriental  garden  outstretched 
below.  Colonel  Carteret — "  the  man  with  the  blue  eyes  " 
as  she  always  had  called  him — awakened  her,  bringing  an 
adorable  and,  as  it  proved  in  the  sequel,  a  tragic  birthday 
gift. — Tragic  because  to  it  might,  actually  if  indirectly, 


THE  HARD  SCHOOL  OF  THINGS          115 

be  traced  the  breaking  up  of  her  childhood's  home  in  the 
stately  Indian  pleasure  palace  of  the  Sultan-i-bagh  at 
Bhutpur,  her  separation  from  her  father  and  exile — as  she 
had  counted  it — to  Europe. 

It  is  among  the  doubtful  privileges  of  highly  sensitized 
natures,  such  as  Damaris',  that,  in  hqurs  of  crisis,  vision 
and  pre-vision  go  hand  in  hand.  As  there  flashed  through 
her  remembrance  of  that  earlier  sleep  in  the  open,  there 
flashed  through  her  also  conviction  that  history  would  still 
further  repeat  itself.  Now,  as  then,  the  incident  of  sleep 
preluded  the  receipt  of  a  gift,  adorable  perhaps,  yet 
freighted  with  far-reaching  consequences  to  herself  and 
her  future.  Of  just  what  that  gift  might  consist  she  had 
no  idea;  but  of  its  approach  she  felt  as  certain  as  of  the 
approach  of  the  man  swinging  down  through  the  rain  over 
the  rattling  pebbles.  And  her  gladness  of  welcome  de- 
clined somewhat.  She  could  have  cried  off,  begged  for 
postponement.  For  she  was  very  tired,  after  all.  She 
didn't  want  anything  now,  anything  which — however  de- 
lightful in  itself — demanded  effort,  demanded  even  the 
exertion  of  being  very  pleased.  She  shied  away,  in  short. 
And  then  commendably  rallied  her  forces,  resolute  not  to 
be  found  unworthy  or  ungrateful. 

"  Yes — come.  I  am  here,"  she  called  in  response  to 
that  lately  heard  calling  of  her  name,  desiring  to  make  an 
act  of  faith  whereby  to  assure  herself  she  was  indeed  ready, 
and  assure  her  hearer  of  her  readiness  to  accept  the  im- 
pending gift. 

"  I  am  here,"  she  began  again  to  affirm,  but  stopped 
abruptly,  the  words  choking  in  her  throat. 

For,  as  with  decreasing  distance  the  figure  grew  dis- 
tinct, she  saw,  to  her  blank  amazement,  not  Sir  Charles 
Verity,  her  father,  as  she  expected,  but  the  blue  reefer 
jacket,  peaked  cap,  and  handsome  bearded  face  of  Darcy 
Faircloth,  the  young  merchant  sea-captain,  emerge  from 
the  blur  of  the,  wet.  And  the  revulsion  of  feeling  was  so 
sharp,  the  shock  at  once  so  staggering  and  intimate — as 
summing  up  all  the  last  ten  days  confused  experience — 
that  Damaris  could  not  control  herself.  She  turned  away 


116  DEADHAM  HARD 

with  a  wail  of  distress,  threw  out  her  hands,  and  then, 
covering  her  eyes  with  them,  bowed  her  head. 

The  young  man  came  forward  and  stood  near  her;  but 
an  appreciable  time  elapsed  before  he  spoke.  When  he 
presently  did  so,  his  voice  reached  her  as  again  singularly 
familiar  in  tone,  though  strange  in  diction  and  in  accent. 

"I'm  sorry  if  I  startled  you,"  he  began,  "  but  I  hailed 
you  just  now,  and  you  told  me  to  come. — I  concluded  you 
meant  what  you  said.  Not,  I'm  afraid,  that  your  giving 
your  permission  or  withholding  it  would  have  made  much 
difference  in  the  upshot.  Timothy  Proud  let  on,  in  my 
hearing,  that  he  set  you  across  the  river  soon  after  two 
o'clock,  and  that  there 'd  been  no  call  for  the  ferry  since. 
So  I  took  one  of  my  own  boats  and  just  came  over  to  look 
for  you — in  case  you  might  have  met  with  some  mishap 
or  strayed  among  the  sandhills  and  couldn't  find 
your  " 

Thus  far  he  spoke  with  studied  calm  and  restraint.  But 
here,  as  though  struck  by  a  fresh  and  very  objectionable 
idea,  he  broke  out: 

' '  Nothing  has  happened  has  it  ?  No  cowardly  brute  has 
interfered  with  you  or  upset  you?  Dear  God  alive,  don't 
tell  me  I'm  too  late,  don't  tell  me  that." 

Upon  Damaris  this  sudden,  though  to  her  unaccountable, 
violence  and  heat  acted  as  a  cordial.  She  raised  her  head, 
pushing  back  the  damp  hair  from  her  forehead,  and  dis- 
playing a  proud  if  strained  and  weary  face. 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  of  course  not.  Who  would  venture 
to  be  rude  to  me?  I  have  not  seen  anyone  all  the  after- 
noon— until  now,  when  you  came.  And,"  she  added  by 
way  of  further  explanation — she  didn't  want  to  be  un- 
gracious or  unkind,  but  she  did  want,  in  justice  to  her- 
self, to  have  this  understood — "  in  the  distance  I  didn't 
recognize  you.  I  mistook  you  for  someone  else  " 

"  Who  else?  "  he  took  her  up,  and  with  a  queer  flicker 
— if  of  a  smile,  then  one  with  a  keenish  edge  to  it — in  his 
eyes  and  about  his  mouth. 

"  For  my  father,"  Damaris  answered.  "  It  was  a 
stupid  mistake,  because  he  is  away  staying  in  Norfolk  for 


THE  HARD  SCHOOL  OF  THINGS          117 

partridge  shooting,  and  I  have  not  any  real  reason  to  ex- 
pect him  home  for  several  days  yet." 

"  But  in  this  deceptive  light,"  Faircloth  took  her  up 
again,  while — as  she  could  not  help  observing — that  flicker 
became  more  pronounced.  It  seemed  silently  to  laugh  and 
to  mock. — ' '  Oh !  to  be  sure  that  accounts  for  your  mistake 
as  to  my  identity.  One  sees  how  it  might  very  well  come 
about." 

He  took  off  his  cap,  and  threw  back  his  head  looking  up 
into  the  low  wet  sky. 

"  At  night  all  cats  are  grey,  aren't  they,"  he  went  on, 
"  little  ones  as  well  as  big?  And  it's  close  on  night  now, 
thanks  to  this  dirty  weather.  So  close  on  it,  that — though 
personally  I'm  in  no  hurry — I  ought  to  get  you  back  to 
The  Hard,  or  there'll  be  a  regular  hue  and  cry  after  you 
— rightly  and  probably  too,  if  your  servants  and  people 
have  any  notion  of  their  duty." 

"  I  am  quite  ready,"  Damaris  said. 

She  strove  to  show  a  brave  front,  to  keep  up  appear- 
ances; but  she  felt  helpless  and  weak,  curiously  confused 
by  and  unequal  to  dealing  with  this  masterful  stranger — 
who  yet,  somehow  did  not  seem  like  a  stranger.  Precisely 
in  this  was  the  root  of  her  confusion,  of  her  inability  to 
deal  with  him. 

"  But  hardly  as  you  are,"  he  commented,  on  her  an- 
nouncement she  was  ready.  ' '  Let  me  help  to  put  on  your 
shoes  and  stockings  for  you  first."  And  this  he  said  so 
gently  and  courteously,  that  Damaris'  lips  began  to  quiver, 
very  feminine  and  youthful  shame  at  the  indignity  of  her 
present  plight  laying  hold  on  her. 

"  I  can't  find  them,"  she  pitifully  declared.  "  I  have 
looked  and  looked,  but  I  can't  find  them  anywhere.  I  left 
my  things  just  here.  Can  anyone  have  stolen  them  while 
I  was  out  at  the  end  of  the  Bar?  It  is  so  mysterious  and 
so  dreadfully  tiresome.  I  should  have  gone  home  long 
ago,  before  the  rain  began,  if  I  could  have  found  them." 

And  with  that,  the  whole  little  story — childish  or  idyllic 
as  you  please — of  sunshine  and  colour,  of  beguiling  birds 
and  beguiling  sea,  of  sleep,  and  uneasy  awakening  when 


118  DEADHAM  HARD 

the  cloud-bank  rising  westward  devoured  the  fair  face 
of  heaven,  of  mist  and  fruitless  seeking,  even  some  word  of 
the  fear  which  forever  sits  behind  and  peeps  over  the 
shoulder  of  all  wonder  and  all  beauty,  got  itself — not 
without  eloquent  passages — quickly  yet  gravely  told.  For 
the  young  man  appeared  to  derive  considerable  pleasure 
from  listening,  from  watching  her  and  from  questioning 
her  too — still,  gently  and  courteously  though  closely,  as  if 
each  detail  were  of  interest  and  of  value. 

"  And  now  you  know  all  about  it,  Captain  Faircloth," 
Damaris  said  in  conclusion,  essaying  to  laugh  at  her  own 
discomfiture.  "  And  I  am  very  tired,  so  if  you  will  be 
kind  enough  to  row  me  across  the  ferry,  I  shall  be  grate- 
ful to  you,  and  glad,  please,  to  go  home  at  once." 

"  By  all  means,"  he  answered.  "  Only,  you  know,  I 
can't  very  well  let  you  cut  your  feet  to  pieces  on  these 
cruel  stones,  so  I  am  just  going  to  carry  you  up  over  the 
Bar  " 

"  No — no — I  can  perfectly  well  walk.  I  mean  to  walk 
— see,"  she  cried. 

And  started  courageously  up  the  rough  ascent,  only  to 
slip,  after  a  few  paces,  and  to  stagger.  For  as  soon  as  she 
attempted  to  move,  she  felt  herself  not  only  weak,  but 
oddly  faint  and  giddy.  She  lurched  forward,  and  to  avoid 
falling  instinctively  clutched  at  her  companion's  out- 
stretched hand.  Exactly  what  passed  between  the  young 
man  and  young  girl  in  that  hand-clasp — the  first  contact 
they  had  had  of  one  another — it  might  seem  far-reached 
and  fantastic  to  affirm;  yet  that  it  steadied  not  only 
Damaris'  trembling  limbs,  but  her  trembling  and  over- 
wrought spirit,  is  beyond  question.  For  it  was  kind  and 
more  than  kind — tender,  and  that  with  the  tenderness  of 
right  and  usage  rather  than  of  sentimental  response  to 
a  passing  sentimental  appeal. 

"  There,  there,"  he  said,  "  what's  the  use  of  working  to 
keep  up  this  little  farce  any  longer?  Just  give  in — you 
can't  put  off  doing  so  in  the  end.  Why  not  at  once,  then, 
accept  defeat  and  spare  both  yourself  and  me  pain?  You 
are  no  more  fit  to  walk,  than  you  are  fit  to  fly — to  fly; 


THE  HARD  SCHOOL  OF  THINGS          119 

away  from  me! — That's  what  you  want,  isn't  it?  Ah!  that 
flight  will  come,  no  doubt,  all  in  good  time. — But  mean- 
while, be  sensible.  Put  your  left  arm  round  my  neck — 
like  this,  yes.  Then — just  a  little  hoist,  and,  if  you'll 
not  worry  but  keep  still,  nothing's  easier." 

As  he  spoke,  Faircloth  stooped,  lightly  and  with  no 
apparent  exertion  lifting  her  high,  so  that — she  clasping 
his  neck  as  instructed — the  main  weight  of  her  body  rested 
upon  his  shoulder.  With  his  right  arm  he  held  her  just 
above  the  waist,  his  left  arm  below  her  knees  cradling 
her. 

"  Now  rest  quiet,"  he  said.  "  Know  you  are  safe  and 
think  only  of  comfortable  things — among  them  this  one, 
if  you  care  to,  that  for  once  in  my  life  I  am  content. ' ' 

Yet  over  such  yielding  and  treacherous  ground,  upward 
to  the  crown  of  the  ridge  and  downward  to  the  river, 
progress  could  not  be  otherwise  than  slow.  Twilight,  and 
that  of  the  dreariest  and  least  penetrable,  overtook  them 
before  Faircloth,  still  carrying  the  white-clothed  figure, 
reached  the  jetty.  Here,  at  the  bottom  of  the  wooden  steps 
he  set  Damaris  down,  led  her  up  them  and  handed  her 
into  the  boat — tied  up  to,  and  the  tide  being  at  the  flood, 
now  little  below  the  level  of  the  staging. 


CHAPTER   V 

WHEREIN    DAMARIS    MAKES    SOME    ACQUAINTANCE    WITH    THE 
HIDDEN    WAYS    OF    MEN 

THROUGHOUT  their  singular  journey — save  for 
briefest  question  and  answer  about  her  well-being 
at  the  commencement  of  it — the  two  had  kept  silence, 
as  though  conscious  Faircloth's  assertion  of  contentment 
struck  a  chord  any  resolution  of  which  might  imperil  the 
simplicity  of  their  relation.  Thus  far  that  relation  showed 
a  noble  freedom  from  embarrassment.  It  might  have  con- 
tinued to  do  so  but  for  a  hazardous  assumption  on  his 
part. 

When  first  placing  Damaris  in  the  stern  of  the  boat,  the 
young  man  stripped  off  his  jacket  and,  regardless  of  her 
vaguely  expressed  protest,  wrapped  it  round  her  feet.  It 
held  the  living  warmth  of  his  body;  and,  chilled,  dazed, 
and  spent,  as  Damaris  was,  that  warmth  curiously  soothed 
her,  until  the  ink-black  boat  floating  upon  the  brimming, 
hardly  less  inky,  water  faded  from  her  knowledge  and 
sight.  She  drooped  together,  passing  into  a  state  more 
comparable  to  coma  than  to  natural  slumber,  her  will  in 
abeyance,  thought  and  imagination  borne  under  by  the 
immensity  of  her  fatigue. 

As  Faircloth,  meanwhile,  pulled  clear  of  the  outstand- 
ing piles  of  the  jetty,  he  heard  voices  and  saw  lights  mov- 
ing down  by  the  ferry  on  the  opposite  shore.  But  these, 
and  any  invitation  they  might  imply,  he  ignored.  If  the 
hue  and  cry  after  Damaris,  which  he  had  prophesied,  were 
already  afoot,  he  intended  to  keep  clear  of  it,  studiously 
to  give  it  the  slip.  To  this  end,  once  in  the  fairway  of  the 
river  he  headed  the  boat  downstream,  rowing  strongly 
though  cautiously  for  some  minutes,  careful  to  avoid  all 
plunge  of  the  oars,  all  swish  of  them  or  drip.  Then,  the 

120 


THE  HARD  SCHOOL  OF  THINGS          121 

lights  now  hidden  by  the  higher  level  and  scrub  of  the 
warren,  he  sat  motionless  letting  the  boat  drift  on  the  sea- 
ward setting  current. 

The  fine  rain  fell  without  sound.  It  shut  out  either  bank 
creating  a  singular  impression  of  solitude  and  isolation, 
and  of  endlessness  too.  There  seemed  no  reason  why  it 
should  ever  cease.  And  this  delusion  of  permanence,  the 
enclosing  soft-clinging  darkness  served  to  heighten.  The 
passage  of  time  itself  seemed  arrested — to-morrow  becom- 
ing an  abstraction,  remote  and  improbable,  which  could, 
with  impunity,  be  left  out  of  the  count.  With  this  fan- 
tastic state  of  things,  Faircloth  had  no  quarrel.  Though 
impatient  of  inaction,  as  a  rule  definite  and  autocratic 
enough,  he  really  wasn't  aware  of  having  any  particular 
use  for  to-morrow.  Content  still  held  sway.  He  was  satis- 
fied, profoundly,  yet  dreamingly,  satisfied  by  an  achieve- 
ment long  proposed,  long  waited  for,  the  door  upon  which 
had  opened  to-day  by  the  merest  accident — if  anything 
can  justly  be  called  accident,  which  he  inclined  to  believe 
it  could  not. 

He  had  appointed,  it  should  be  added,  a  limit  in  respect 
of  that  achievement,  which  he  forbade  himself  to  pass ;  and 
it  was  his  habit  very  rigidly  to  obey  his  own  orders,  how- 
ever little  disposed  he  might  be  to  obey  those  of  other 
people.  He  had  received,  as  he  owned,  more  than  he  could 
reasonably  have  expected,  good  measure  pressed  down  and 
running  over.  The  limit  was  now  reached.  He  should 
practise  restraint — leave  the  whole  affair  where  it  stood. 
But  the  effect  of  this  darkness,  and  of  drifting,  drifting, 
over  the  black  water  in  the  fine  soundless  rain,  with  its 
illusion  of  permanence,  and  of  the  extinction  of  to-morrow 
— and  the  retributions  and  adjustments  in  which  to-mor- 
row is  so  frequently  and  inconveniently  fertile — enervated 
him,  rendering  him  a  comparatively  easy  prey  to  impulse, 
should  impulse  chance  to  be  stirred  by  some  adventitious 
circumstance.  The  Devil,  it  may  be  presumed,  is  very 
much  on  the  watch  for  such  weakenings  of  moral  fibre, 
ready  to  pounce,  at  the  very  shortest  notice,  and  make  un- 
holy play  with  them! 


122  DEADHAM  HARD 

To  Faircloth's  ruminative  eyes,  the  paleness  in  the 
stern  of  the  boat,  indicating  Damaris  Verity's  drooping 
figure,  altered  slightly  in  outline.  Whereupon  he  shipped 
the  oars  skillfully  and  quietly,  and  going  aft  knelt  down 
in  front  of  her.  Her  feet  were  stretched  out  as,  bowed 
together,  she  sat  on  the  low  seat.  His  jacket  had  slipped 
away  exposing  them  to  the  weather,  and  the  young  man 
laying  his  hands  on  them  felt  them  cold  as  in  death.  He 
held  them,  chafed  them,  trying  to  restore  some  degree  of 
circulation.  Finally,  moved  by  a  great  upwelling  of  ten- 
derness and  of  pity,  and  reckoning  her,  since  she  gave  no 
sign,  to  be  asleep,  he  bent  down  and  put  his  lips  to  them. 

But  immediately  the  girl's  hands  were  upon  his  shoul- 
ders. 

"  What  are  you  doing,  oh!  what  are  you  going?  "  she 
cried. 

"  Kissing  your  feet." 

Then  the  Devil,  no  doubt,  flicking  him,  he  let  go  re- 
straint, disobeyed  his  own  orders,  raised  his  head,  and 
looking  at  her  as  in  the  enfolding  obscurity  she  leaned  over 
him,  said: 

"  And,  if  it  comes  to  that,  who  in  all  the  round  world 
has  a  better  right  than  I,  your  brother,  to  kiss  your  feet?  " 

For  some,  to  him,  intolerable  and  interminable  seconds, 
Faircloth  waited  after  he  had  shot  his  bolt.  The  water 
•whispered  and  chuckled  against  the  boat's  sides  in  lazy 
undertones,  as  it  floated  down  the  sluggish  stream.  Be- 
yond this  there  was  neither  sound  nor  movement.  More 
than  ever  might  time  be  figured  to  stand  still.  His  com- 
panion's hands  continued  to  rest  upon  his  shoulders.  Her 
ghostly,  dimly  discerned  face  was  so  near  his  own  that  he 
could  feel,  now  and  again,  her  breath  upon  his  forehead ;  but 
she  was  silent.  As  yet  he  did  not  repent  of  his  cruelty. 
The  impulse  which  dictated  it  had  not  spent  itself.  Never- 
theless this  suspense  tried  him.  He  grew  impatient. 

"  Damaris,"  he  said,  at  last,  "  speak  to  me." 

"  How  can  I  speak  to  you  when  I  don't  understand," 
she  answered  gravely.  "  Either  you  lie — which  I  should 
be  sorry  to  accuse  you  of  doing — or  you  tell  me  a  very 


terrible  thing,  if,  that  is,  I  at  all  comprehend  what  you 
say. — Are  you  not  the  son  of  Mrs.  Faircloth,  who  lives  at 
the  inn  out  by  the  black  cottages?  " 

"  Yes,  Lesbia  Faircloth  is  my  mother.  And  I  ask  for 
no  better.  She  has  squandered  love  upon  me — squandered 
money,  upon  me  too ;  but  wisely  and  cleverly,  with  results. 

Still "  he  paused  "  well,  it  takes  two,  doesn't  it, 

to  make  a  man?  One  isn't  one's  mother's  son  only." 

"  But  Mrs.  Faircloth  is  a  widow,"  Damaris  reasoned,  in 
wondering  directness.  "  I  have  heard  people  speak  of  her 
husband.  She  was  married." 

"  But  not  to  my  father.  Do  you  ask  for  proofs — just 
think  a  minute.  Whom  did  you  mistake  me  for  when  I 
called  you  and  came  down  over  the  Bar  in  the  dusk?  " 

"  No — no — "  she  protested  trembling  exceedingly. 
"  That  is  not  possible.  How  could  such  a  thing  happen?  " 

"  As  such  things  mostly  do  happen.  It  is  not  the  first 
case,  nor  will  it  by  a  long  way,  I  reckon,  be  the  last.  They 
were  young,  and — mayn't  we  allow — they  were  beautiful. 
That's  often  a  good  deal  to  do  with  these  accidents.  They 
met  and,  God  help  them,  they  loved." 

"  No — no — "  Damaris  cried  again. 

Yet  she  kept  her  hands  on  Faircloth 's  shoulders,  clinging 
to  him  in  the  excessive  travail  of  her  innocent  spirit — 
though  he  racked  her — for  sympathy  and  for  help. 

"  For  whom,  after  all,  did  you  take  me?  "  he  repeated. 
"  If  there  wasn't  considerable  cause  it  would  be  incredible 
you  should  make  such  a  mistake.  Can  you  deny  that  I  am 
hall-marked,  that  the  fact  of  my  parentage  is  written  large 
in  my  flesh?  " 

He  felt  her  eyes  fixed  on  him,  painfully  straining  to  see 
him  through  the  rain  and  darkness;  and,  when  she  spoke 
again,  he  knew  she  knew  that  he  did  not  lie. 

"  But  wasn't  it  wrong?  "  she  said. 

"  I  suppose  so.  Only  as  it  gave  me  life  and  as  I  love 
life  I'm  hardly  the  person  to  deliver  an  unbiased  opinion 
on  that  point." 

"  Then  you  are  not  sad,  you  are  not  angry?  "  Damaris 
presently  and  rather  unexpectedly  asked. 


124  DEADHAM  HARD 

"  Yes — at  times  both,  but  not  often  or  for  long  together. 
As  I  tell  you  I  love  life — love  it  too  well  to  torment  myself 
much  about  the  manner  of  my  coming  by  it.  It  might 
show  more  refinement  of  feeling  perhaps  to  hang  my  head 
and  let  a  certain  ugly  word  blast  my  prospects.  But 
I  don't  happen  to  see  the  business  that  way.  On  the  con- 
trary I  hope  to  get  every  ounce  of  advantage  out  of  it  I 
can — use  it  as  a  spur  rather  than  a  hobble.  And  I  love 
my  profession  too.  It  gives  you  room  and  opportunity. 
I  am  waiting  now  for  my  first  ship,  my  first  command. 
That's  a  fine  thing  and  a  strong  one.  For  your  first  ship 
is  as  a  bride  to  you,  and  your  first  command  makes  you  as 
a  king  among  men.  Oh!  on  a  small  scale  I  grant;  but, 
as  far  as  it  reaches,  your  authority  is  absolute.  On  board 
your  own  ship  you  are  master  with  a  vengeance — if  you 
like.  And  I  do  like." 

Faircloth  said  the  last  few  words  softly,  but  with  a 
weight  of  meaning  not  to  be  misunderstood.  He  bent 
down,  once  more,  chafed  Damaris'  feet  and  wrapped  his 
jacket  carefully  round  them. 

"  And,  while  you  and  I  are  alone  together,  there  is 
something — as  we've  spoken  so  freely — which  I  want  to 
tell  you,  so  that  there  may  be  no  misconception  about  me 
or  about  what  I  want. — As  men  in  my  rank  of  life  go,  I 
am  well  off.  Rich — again  on  a  small  scale;  but  with 
means  sufficient  to  meet  all  my  needs.  I'm  not  a  spend- 
thrift by  nature,  luckily.  And  I  have  amply  enough  not 
only  to  hold  my  own  in  my  profession  and  win  through, 
but  to  procure  myself  the  pleasures  and  amusements  I 
happen  to  fancy.  I  want  you  to  remember  that,  please. 
Tell  me  Is  it  quite  clear  to  you?  " 

"  Yes,"  Damaris  said,  "  you  have  made  it  quite  clear." 

Yet  for  the  first  time  he  jarred  on  her,  as  with  a  more 
than  superficial  difference  of  breeding  and  of  class.  This 
mention  of  money  offended  her  taste,  seeming  to  lower  the 
level  upon  which  their  extraordinary  and — to  her — terrible 
conversation  had  thus  far  moved.  It  hurt  her  with  another 
kind  of  hurting — not  magnificent,  not  absorbing,  but  just 
common.  That  in  speaking  of  money  he  was  protecting 


THE  HARD  SCHOOL  OF  THINGS          125 

himself,  proudly  self-guarding  his  own  honour  and  that 
of  his  mother,  Lesbia  Faircloth,  never,  in  her  innocence  of 
what  is  mean  and  mercenary,  occurred  to  Damaris. 

So  she  took  her  hands  off  his  shoulders  and  clasped  them 
in  her  lap.  Clasped  them  with  all  her  poor  strength,  striv- 
ing even  in  this  extreme,  to  maintain  some  measure  of 
calm  and  of  dignity.  She  must  hold  out,  she  told  herself, 
just  simply  by  force  of  will  hold  out,  till  she  was  away 
from  him.  After  that,  chaos — for  thoughts,  discoveries, 
apprehensions  of  possibilities  in  human  intercourse  hither- 
to undreamed  of,  were  marshalled  round  her  in  close 
formation  shoulder  to  shoulder.  They  only  waited.  An 
instant's  yielding  on  her  part,  and  they  would  be  on  to 
her,  crushing  down  and  in,  making  her  brain  reel,  her 
mind  stagger  under  their  stifling  crowded  assault. 

"  Go  back  and  row,"  she  said,  at  once  imploring  and 
imperious.  "  Row  quickly.  I  am  very  tired.  I  am  cold. 
I  want  to  be  at  home — to  be  in  my  own  place." 


CHAPTER  VI 

RECOUNTING  AN   ASTONISHING   DEPOSITION 

THERESA  BILSON  bustled  upstairs.  Barring  the 
absence  of  the  extra  brake,  which  had  caused — and 
for  this  she  could  not  be  sorry  since  didn't  it  justify 
her  "  attitude  "  towards  her  recalcitrant  ex-pupil? — some 
inconvenient  overcrowding  in  transit  to  and  from  the 
station,  and  barring  the  rain,  which  set  in  between  five 
and  six  o'clock,  the  expedition  to  Harchesuer  passed  off 
with  considerable  eclat.  Such,  in  any  case,  was  Theresa's 
-opinion,  she  herself  having  figured  conspicuously  in  the 
foreground.  During  the  inspection  of  the  Cathedral  the 
Dean  paid  her  quite  marked  attention;  thanks,  in  part, 
to  her  historical  and  archaeological  knowledge — of  which 
she  made  the  most,  and  to  her  connection  with  the  Verity 
family — of  which  she  made  the  most  also.  In  precisely 
what  that  connection  might  consist,  the  learned  and  timid 
old  gentleman,  being  very  deaf  and  rather  near-sighted, 
failed  to  gather.  He  determined,  however,  to  be  on  the 
safe  side. 

"  Our  genial  Archdeacon,"  he  said,  "  and  his  dis- 
tinguished kinsman,  Sir  Charles?  Ah!  yes — yes — indeed 
— to  be  sure — with  the  greatest  pleasure." 

And  he  motioned  the  blushing  Theresa  to  fall  into  step 
with  him,  and  with  Dr.  Horniblow,  at  the  head  of  the  Dead- 
ham  procession. 

The  afterglow  of  that  triumphal  progress  irradiated  her 
consciousness  still,  when — after  depositing  the  Miss 
Minetts  upon  their  own  doorstep,  with  playful  last  words 
recalling  the  day's  mild  jokes  and  rallyings — she  drove 
on  to  The  Hard  to  find  the  household  there  in  a  state  of 
sombre  and  most  admired  confusion. 

Thus  to  arrive  home  in  possession  of  a  fine  bag  of  news, 

126 


THE  HARD  SCHOOL  OF  THINGS          127 

only  to  discover  an  opposition  and  far  finer  bag  ready 
awaiting  you  may  well  prove  trying  to  the  most  high- 
souled  and  amiable  of  temper.  By  this  time,  between  suc- 
cess and  fatigue,  Theresa  could  not  be  justly  described  as 
either  high-souled  or  sweet  tempered.  She  was  at  once 
inflated  and  on  edge,  and  consequently  hotly  indignant, 
as  though  the  unfairest  march  possible  had  been  stolen 
upon  her. 

She  bustled  upstairs,  and  crossing  the  landing  turned 
into  the  schoolroom  passage — a  long,  lamp-lit  vista,  hung 
with  old  Chinese  wall-paper,  the  running  pattern  of  buds 
and  flowers,  large  out  of  all  proportion  to  the  bridges, 
palms,  pagodas  and  groups  of  little  purple  and  blue-clad 
men  and  women  disposed,  in  dwindling  perspective,  upon 
its  once  white  surface.  Half-way  along  the  passage,  their 
backs  towards  her,  Mary  and  Mrs.  Cooper,  the  cook — a 
fair,  mild  middle-aged,  and  cow-like  person,  of  ample 
proportions — stood  conversing  in  smothered  tones. 

"  And  it's  my  belief  he's  been  and  told  her,  or  anyhow 
that  she  guesses,  pore  dear  young  lady,"  the  latter,  with 
upraised  hands,  lamented. 

Theresa  just  caught  these  strange  words.  Caught  too, 
Mary's  hurried  rejoinder — "  For  mercy's  sake,  Mrs. 
Cooper,  not  a  hint  of  that  to  any  living  soul  "—before  the 
two  women,  sensible  of  the  swish  and  patter  of  her  self- 
important  entry,  turned  and  moved  forward  to  meet,  or 
— could  it  be  ? — to  intercept  her.  Their  faces  bore  a  singu- 
lar expression,  in  Mrs.  Cooper's  case  of  sloppy,  in  Mary's 
of  stern  yet  vivid  alarm.  Deeply  engaged  though  she  was 
with  her  private  grievance,  Miss  Bilson  could  not  but  ob- 
serve this.  It  made  her  nervous. 

"  What  is  the  meaning,"  she  began,  her  voice  shrill  with 
agitation,  "  of  the  extraordinary  story  about  Miss  Damaris 
which  Laura  reports  to  me?  Someone  is  evidently  very 
much  in  fault." 

"  Please  don't  speak  quite  so  loud,  Miss,"  Mary  firmly 
admonished  her.  "  I've  just  got  Miss  Damaris  quieted  off 
to  sleep,  and  if  she's  roused  up  again,  I  won't  answer  for 
what  mayn't  happen." 


128  DEADHAM  HARD 

"  But  what  has  happened?  I  insist  upon  knowing," 
Theresa  declared,  in  growing  offence  and  agitation. 

"  Ah!  that's  just  what  we  should  be  thankful  enough 
to  have  you  tell  us,  Miss,"  Mrs.  Cooper  chimed  in  with 
heavy  and  reproachful  emphasis  upon  the  pronouns. 

To  even  the  mild  and  cow-like  revenge  is  sweet.  Though 
honestly  distressed  and  scared,  the  speaker  entertained  a 
most  consoling  conviction  she  was  at  this  moment  getting 
even  with  Theresa  Bilson  and  cleverly  paying  off  old 
scores. 

"  The  pore  dear  young  lady's  caught  her  death  as  likely 
as  not,  out  there  across  the  river  in  the  wet,  let  alone 
some  sneaking  rascal  making  off  with  her  stockings  and 
shoes.  When  I  saw  her  little  naked  feet,  all  blue  with  the 
cold,  it  made  my  heart  bleed,  regularly  bleed,  it  did.  I 
could  only  give  thanks  her  Nanna,  pore  Mrs.  Watson,  who 
worshipped  the  very  ground  Miss  Damaris  trod  on,  was 
spared  living  to  see  that  afflicting  sight." 

Then  with  a  change  of  tone  exasperating — as  it  was 
designed  to  be — to  one,  at  least,  of  her  hearers,  she  added : 

"  I'll  have  that  soup  ready  against  Miss  Damaris  wakes, 
Mary,  in  case  she  should  fancy  it.  Just  touch  the  bell, 
will  you,  and  I'll  bring  it  up  myself.  It's  not  suitable 
to  give  either  of  the  girls  a  chance  for  prying.  They're  a 
deal  too  curious  as  it  is.  And  I'm  only  too  pleased  to 
watch  with  you,  turn  and  turn  about,  as  I  told  you,  when- 
ever you  feel  to  require  a  rest.  Lizzie  will  have  to  see  to 
the  cooking  anyhow — except  what's  wanted  for  Miss 
Damaris.  I  couldn't  put  my  mind  into  kitchen  work 
to-night,  not  if  you  paid  me  ever  so." 

And  on  large  flat  feet  she  moved  away  towards  the  back- 
staircase,  leading  down  to  the  offices  from  the  far  end  of 
the  passage,  leaving  an  odour  of  pastry  behind  her  and  of 
cloves. 

"  To  think  of  what  to-morrow  may  bring,  ah!  dear  me," 
she  murmured  as  she  went. 

During  the  ten  minutes  or  so  which  immediately  fol- 
lowed Theresa  Bilson  boxed  the  compass  in  respect  of 
sensations,  the  needle,  as  may  be  noted,  invariably  quiver- 


THE  HARD  SCHOOL  OF  THINGS          129 

ing  back  to  the  same  point — namely,  righteous  anger 
against  Damaris.  For  was  not  that  high-spirited  maiden's 
impervionsness  to  influence  and  defiance  of  authority — 
her,  Theresa's,  influence  and  authority— the  mainspring 
of  all  this  disastrous  complication?  Theresa  found  it  con- 
venient to  believe  so,  and  whip  herself  up  to  almost  frantic 
determination  in  that  belief.  It  was  so  perfectly  clear. 
All  the  more  clear  because  her  informant,  Mary,  evidently 
did  not  share  her  belief.  Mary's  account  of  to-day's  most 
vexatious  transactions  betrayed  partizanship  and  preju- 
dice, such  as  might  be  expected  from  an  uneducated 
person,  offering — as  Theresa  assured  herself — a  pertinent 
example  of  the  workings  of  "  the  servant  mind."  Never- 
theless uneasy  suspicion  dogged  her,  a  haunting  though 
unformulated  dread  that  other  persons — one  person  above 
all  others — might  endorse  Mary's  prejudices  rather  than 
her  own,  so  reasonably  based,  conviction. 

"  If  only  Mr.  Patch  had  been  in  there 'd  have  been 
somebody  to  depend  on,"  the  woman  told  her,  recounting 
the  anxious  search  after  vanished  Damaris.  "  But  he'd 
driven  into  Marychurch  of  course,  starting  ever  so  early 
because  of  the  parcels  he  had  your  orders  to  call  for  at 
the  several  shops,  before  meeting  the  train.  And  the 
gardeners  had  left  work  on  account  of  the  wet;  so  we'd 
nobody  to  send  to  make  enquiries  anywhere  except  Tolling, 
and  that  feather-head  Alfred,  who  you  can't  trust  half  a 
minute  out  of  your  sight. ' '  Here  she  paused  in  her  narrative 
and  made  a  move,  adroitly  driving  Theresa  Bilson  before 
her  out  on  to  the  landing,  thus  putting  a  greater  distance 
between  that  tormented  spinster  and  the  neighbourhood  of 
Damaris'  bedchamber.  Her  handsome  brown  eyes  held 
the  light  of  battle  and  her  colour  was  high.  She  straight- 
ened a  chair,  standing  against  the  wall  at  the  stair-head, 
with  a  neatly  professional  hand  in  passing. 

"  Mrs.  Cooper  and  I  were  fairly  wild  waiting  down  on 
the  sea-wall  with  the  lantern,  thinking  of  drowning  and 
— worse, — when  " — she  glanced  sharply  at  her  companion 
and,  lowering  her  eyes  altered  the  position  of  the  chair 
by  a  couple  of  inches — "  when  Captain  Faircloth's  boat 


130  DEADHAM  HARD 

came  up  beside  the  breakwater  and  he  carried  Miss  Damaris 
ashore  and  across  the  garden." 

"  Stop  " — Theresa  broke  in — "  I  do  not  follow  you. 
Faireloth,  Captain  Faircloth?  You  are  not,  I  earnestly 
hope,  speaking  of  the  owner  of  that  low  public-house  on 
the  island?  " 

"  Yes — him,"  Mary  returned  grimly,  her  eyes  still 
lowered.  * 

"  And  do  you  mean  me  to  understand  that  this  young 
man  carried  Miss  Damaris — actually  carried  her  " — Miss 
Bilson  choked  and  cleared  her  throat  with  a  foolish  little 
crowing  sound — "  carried  her  all  the  way  into  the  house 
• — in  his  arms?  " 

"  Yes,  in  his  arms,  Miss.  How  else  would  you  have  had 
him  carry  her  ? — And,  as  gentle  and  careful  as  any  woman 
could,  too — into  the  house  and  right  upstairs  here  " — 
pointing  along  the  passage  as  if  veritably  beholding  the 
scene  once  more — "  and  into  her  own  bedroom." 

"  How  shocking.     How  extremely  improper!  " 

Theresa  beat  her  fat  little  hands  hysterically  together. 
She  credited  herself  with  emotions  of  the  most  praise- 
worthy and  purest;  ignorant  that  the  picture  conjured  up 
before  her  provoked  obscure  physical  jealousies,  obscure 
stirrings  of  latent  unsatisfied  passion.  More  than  ever, 
surely,  did  the  needle  quiver  back  to  that  fixed  point  of 
most  righteous  anger. 

"  Such — such  a  proceeding  cannot  have  been  necessary. 
It  ought  not  to  have  been  permitted.  Why  did  not  Miss 
Damaris  walk?  " 

"  Because  she  was  in  a  dead  faint,  and  we'd  all  the 
trouble  in  life  to  bring  her  round." 

"  Indeed,"  she  said,  and  that  rather  nastily.  "  I  am 
Sorry,  but  I  cannot  but  believe  Miss  Damaris  might  have 
made  an  effort  to  walk — with  your  assistance  and  that  of 
Cooper,  had  you  offered  it.  As  I  remarked  at  first,  some- 
one is  evidently  very  much  to  blame.  The  whole  matter 
must  be  thoroughly  sifted  out,  of  course.  I  am  disap- 
pointed, for  I  had  great  confidence  in  you  and  Cooper — 
two  old  servants  who  might  really  have  been  expected  to 


THE  HARD  SCHOOL  OF  THINGS          131 

possess  some  idea  of  the — the  respect  due  to  their  master's 
daughter.  What  will  Sir  Charles  say  when  he  hears  of 
this  objectionable  incident?  " 

"  That's  just  what  Mrs.  Cooper  and  I  are  wondering, 
Miss,"  Mary  took  her  up  with  so  much  meaning  that 
Miss  Bilson  inwardly  quailed,  sensible  of  having  committed 
a  rather  egregious  blunder.  This  she  made  efforts  to  repair 
by  sheering  off  hurriedly  on  another  tack. 

"  Not  that  I  shall  trouble  Sir  Charles  with  the  matter, 
unless  circumstances  arise  which  compel  me  to  do  so — 
as  a  duty.  My  great  object,  of  course,  is  at  all  times  to 
spare  him  any  domestic  annoyance." 

She  began  pulling  off  her  gloves,  a  new  pair  and  tight. 
Her  hands  were  moist  and  the  glove-fingers  stuck,  render-^ 
ing  their  removal  lengthy  and  difficult. 

"  To-morrow  I  shall  have  a  thorough  explanation  with 
Miss  Damaris  and  decide  what  action  it  is  my  duty  to 
take  after  hearing  her  version  of  the  events  of  this  after- 
noon. I  should  prefer  speaking  to  her  to-night " 

"  Miss  Damaris  isn't  fit  to  talk  about  anything  to-night." 

Theresa  pulled  at  the  right-hand  glove — the  kid  gave 
with  a  little  shriek,  the  thumb  splitting  out.  She  was  in  a 
state  of  acute  indecision.  Could  she  retire  from  this  con- 
test without  endangering  her  authority,  without  loss  of 
prestige,  or  must  she  insist?  She  had  no  real  wish  to 
hasten  to  her  ex-pupil's  bedside.  She  would  be  glad  to 
put  off  doing  so,  glad  to  wait.  She  was  conscious  of  re- 
sentment rather  than  affection.  And  she  felt  afraid,  un- 
formulated  suspicion,  unformulated  dread,  again  dogging 
her.  That  Damaris  was  really  ill,  she  did  not  believe  for 
an  instant.  Damaris  had  excellent  health.  The  maids 
exaggerated.  They  delighted  in  making  mysteries.  Un- 
educated persons  are  always  absurdly  greedy  of  disaster, 
lugubriously  credulous. — Yes,  on  the  whole  she  concluded 
to  maintain  her  original  attitude,  the  attitude  of  yester- 
day and  this  morning;  concluded  it  would  be  more  telling 
to  keep  up  the  fiction  of  disgrace — because — Theresa  did 
not  care  to  scrutinize  her  own  motives  or  analyse  her  own 
thought  too  closely.  She  was  afraid,  and  she  was  jealous 


132  DEADHAM  HARD 

— jealous  of  Damans'  beauty,  of  the  great  love  borne  her 
by  her  father,  jealous  of  the  fact  that  a  young  man — 
hadn't  she,  Theresa,  seen  the  young  sea-captain  once  or 
twice  in  the  village  recently  and  been  fluttered  by  his 
notable  good  looks? — had  rescued  the  girl,  and  carried 
her  home,  carried  her  up  here  across  the  landing  and  along 
the  familiar  schoolroom  passage,  with  its  patterned  Chinese 
wall-paper,  gently  and  carefully,  in  his  arms. 

And  these  qualifying  terms — gentle  and  careful — 
rankled  to  the  point  even  of  physical  disturbance,  so  that 
Miss  Bilson  again  became  guilty  of  inelegantly  choking, 
and  clearing  her  throat  for  the  second  time  with  a  foolish 
crowing  sound. 

"  I  will  postpone  my  interview  with  Miss  Damaris  until 
after  breakfast  to-morrow,"  she  said,  thus  leaving  Mary 
Fisher  virtually,  if  not  admittedly,  master  of  the  field. 

But  long  before  breakfast  time,  in  the  grey  and  mourn- 
ful autumn  morning,  Patch  rattled  the  dog-cart  the  seven 
miles  into  Stourmouth,  as  fast  as  the  black  horse  could 
travel,  to  fetch  Damaris'  old  friend,  the  retired  Indian 
Civil  surgeon,  Dr.  McCabe.  For,  coming  to  herself,  in 
the  intervals  of  distracted  fever  dreams,  she  had  asked 
for  him,  going  back  by  instinct  to  the  comfort  of  his  care 
of  her  in  childish  illnesses  long  ago.  Since  she  was  ill 
enough,  so  Mary  said,  to  need  a  doctor,  let  it  be  him. 

"  Not  Mr.  Cripps  out  of  the  village,  or  Dr.  Risdon  from 
Marychurch.  I  won't  see  them.  I  will  not  see  anyone 
from  near  here.  Keep  them  away  from  me,"  she  com- 
manded. "  I  know  Miss  Bilson  will  try  to  send  for  one 
or  the  other.  But  I  won't  see  either.  Promise  you'll  keep 
them  away." 

When,  after  Ms  visit,  Theresa  Bilson,  considerably 
flustered  and  offended,  found  McCabe  breakfasting  in  the 
dining-room  and  offered  profuse  apologies  for  the  incon- 
venience to  which  he  must  have  been  put  by  so  early 
and  unnecessary  a  call,  the  tender-hearted  and  garrulous, 
but  choleric  Irishman  cut  her  uncommonly  short. 

"  And  would  you  be  supposing  then,  that  if  the  dear 
blessed  child  should  be  desirous  of  consulting  me  I 


DEADHAM  HARD  133 

wouldn't  have  rejoiced  to  come  to  her  a  thousand  times  as 
early  and  from  ten  thousand  times  as  far?  "  he  enquired, 
between  large  mouthfuls  of  kidney  and  fried  bacon. 
"  The  scheming  little  pudding-faced  governess  creature, 
with  a  cherry  nose  and  an  envious  eye  to  her  " — he  com- 
mented to  himself. 

' '  But  you  do  not  apprehend  anything  serious  ?  ' '  Theresa 
said  stiffly—"  Merely  a  slight  chill?  " 

"  With  a  temperature  dancing  up  and  down  like  a  mad 
thing  between  a  hundred  and  one  and  a  hundred  and  three  ? 
I'm  dashed  if  I  like  the  looks  of  her  at  all,  at  all,  Miss 
Bilson;  and  I  am  well  acquainted  with  her  constitution 
and  her  temperament.  She's  as  delicate  a  piece  of  femi- 
nine mechanism  as  it's  ever  been  my  fortune  to  handle, 
and  has  been  so  from  a  child.  Mind  and  body  so  finely 
interwoven  that  you  can't  touch  the  one  without  affecting 
the  other — that  is  where  danger  comes  in. — And  I  am 
glad  to  find  she  has  so  competent  a  nurse  as  Mary  Fisher 
— a  wholesome  woman  and  one  to  put  faith  in.  I  have 
given  my  full  instructions  to  her." 

"  But  I  " — Theresa  began  fussily,  her  face  crimson. 

"  Oh!  I  don't  doubt  you're  devotion  itself;  only  my 
first  consideration  is  my  patient,  and  so  I  make  free  to 
use  my  own  judgment  in  the  selection  of  my  assistants.  No 
disrespect  to  you,  my  dear  lady.  You  are  at  home  in  more 
intellectual  spheres  than  that  of  the  sick-room.  And  now, ' ' 
he  wiped  his  mouth  with  his  napkin,  twinkling  at  her  over 
the  top  of  it  with  small  blue-grey  eyes,  at  once  merry, 
faithful,  and  cunning — "  I'll  be  bidding  you  good-bye 
till  the  evening.  I  have  told  Mary  Fisher  I'll  be  glad 
to  sleep  here  to-night.  And  I'll  despatch  a  telegram  to 
Sir  Charles  on  my  way  through  the  village." 

"  Sir  Charles?  "  Theresa  cried. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered  her.  "  I  find  the  darling  girl's 
illness  as  serious  as  that." 


CHAPTER  VII 

A  SOUL  AT  WAR  WITH  FACT 

THE  deepest  and  most  abiding  demand  of  all  sentient 
creatures,  strong  and  weak  alike,  is  for  safety,  or, 
that  being  unattainable,  for  a  sense  of  safety,  an 
illusion  even  of  safety. 

This,  so  universal  demand,  dictated,  in  Damaris'  case, 
her  prayer  for  Dr.  McCabe's  attendance.  He  belonged  to 
i  the  safeties  of  her  childhood,  to  the  securely  guarded,  and 
semi-regal  state — as,  looking  back,  she  recalled  it — of  the 
years  when  her  father  held  the  appointment  of  Chief 
Commissioner  at  Bhutpur.  Dr.  McCabe  was  conversant 
with  all  that;  the  sole  person  available,  at  this  juncture, 
who  had  lot  or  part  in  it.  And,  as  she  had  foreseen — 
when  drifting  down  the  tide-river  in  the  rain  and  dark- 
ness— once  the  supporting  tension  of  Faircloth's  presence 
removed,  chaos  would  close  in  on  her.  It  only  waited  due 
opportunity.  That  granted,  as  a  tempest-driven  sea  it 
would  submerge  her.  In  the  welter  of  the  present,  she 
clutched  at  the  high  dignities  and  distinctions  of  the  past 
as  at  a  lifebelt.  Not  vulgarly,  in  a  spirit  of  self-ag- 
grandizement ;  but  in  the  simple  interests  of  self-preserva- 
tion, as  a  means  of  keeping  endangered  sanity  afloat.  For 
the  distinctions  and  dignities  of  that  period  were  real  too, 
just  as  uncontrovertible  a  contribution  to  her  knowledge 
of  men  and  of  things,  just  as  vital  an  element  in  her  ex- 
perience, as  chaos  let  loose  on  her  now.  The  one  in  no 
degree  invalidated  the  truth  or  actuality  of  the  other. 

But  to  keep  this  in  mind,  to  remember  it  all  the  time, 
while  imagination  galloped  with  fever  brought  on  by  chill 
and  exposure,  and  reason  wandered,  losing  touch  with 
plain  commonsense  through  the  moral  shock  she  had  sus- 
tained, was  difficult  to  the  point  of  impossibility.  She 

134 


needed  a  witness,  visible  and  material,  to  the  fact  of  those 
former  happier  conditions ;  and  found  it,  quaintly  enough, 
in  the  untidy  person  and  humorous,  quarrelsome,  brick- 
dust  coloured  face — as  much  of  the  said  face,  that  is,  as 
was  discoverable  under  the  thick  stiff  growth  of  sandy 
hair  surrounding  and  invading  it — of  the  Irish  doctor,  as 
he  sat  by  her  bed,  ministered  to  and  soothed  her  with 
reverent  and  whimsical  delicacy. 

As  long  as  he  was  there,  her  room  retained  its  normal, 
pleasant  and  dainty  aspect.  All  Damaris'  little  personal 
effects  and  treasures  adorning  dressing  and  writing-tables, 
the  photographs  and  ornaments  upon  the  mantelshelf,  her 
books,  the  prints  and  pictures  upon  the  walls — even  the 
white  dimity  curtains  and  covers,  trellised  with  small 
faded  pink  and  blue  roses — seemed  to  smile  upon  her, 
kindly  and  confiding.  They  wanted  to  be  nice,  to  console 
and  encourage  her — McCabe  holding  them  in  place  and  in 
active  good-will  towards  her,  somehow,  with  his  large 
freckled,  hairy-backed  hands.  But  let  him  go  from  the 
room,  let  him  leave  her,  and  they  turned  wicked,  behaving 
as  they  had  behaved  throughout  the  past  rather  dreadful 
night  and  adding  to  the  general  chaos  by  tormenting  tricks 
and  distortions  of  their  own. 

The  beloved  photographs  of  her  father,  in  particular, 
were  cruel.  They  grew  inordinately  large,  stepped  out  of 
their  frames,  and  stalked  to  and  fro  in  troops  and  com- 
panies. The  charcoal  drawing  of  him — done  last  year  by 
that  fine  artist,  James  Colthurst,  as  a  study  for  the  por- 
trait he  was  to  paint — hanging  between  the  two  western 
windows,  at  right  angles  to  her  bed  where  she  could  always 
see  it,  proved  the  worst  offender.  It  did  not  take  the 
floor,  it  is  true,  but  remained  in  its  frame  upon  the  wall. 
Yet  it  too  came  alive,  and  looked  full  at  her,  compelling 
her  attention,  dominating,  commanding  her ;  while,  slowly, 
deliberately  it  changed,  the  features  slightly  losing  their 
accentuation,  growing  youthful,  softer  in  outline,  the  long 
drooping  moustache  giving  place  to  a  close-cut  beard.  The 
eyes  alone  stayed  the  same,  steady,  luminous,  a  living 
silence  in  them  at  once  formidable  and  strangely  sad. 


136  DEADHAM  HARD 

Finally — and  this  the  poor  child  found  indescribably  agi- 
tating and  even  horrible — their  silence  was  broken  by  a 
question.  For  they  asked  what  she,  Damaris,  meant  to 
say,  meant  to  do,  when  he — her  father,  the  all-powerful 
Commissioner  Sahib  of  her  babyhood's  faith  and  devo- 
tion— came  home  here,  came  back? 

Yet  whose  eyes,  after  all,  were  they  which  thus  asked? 
Was  it  not,  rather  the  younger  man,  the  bearded  one,  who 
claimed,  and  of  right,  an  answer  to  that  question?  And 
upon  Damaris  it  now  dawned  that  these  two,  distinct  yet 
interchangeable  personalities — imprisoned,  as  by  some  evil 
magic  in  one  picture — were  in  opposition,  in  violent  and 
impious  conflict,  which  conflict  she  was  called  upon,  yet 
was  powerless,  to  avert  or  to  assuage. 

Not  once  but  many  times — since  the  transformation  was 
persistently  recurrent — the  girl  turned  her  face  to  the 
wall  to  gain  relief  from  the  sight  of  it  and  the  demand  it 
so  fearfully  embodied,  pressing  her  dry  lips  together  lest 
any  word  should  escape  them.  For  the  whole  matter,  as 
she  understood  it  was  secret,  sacred  too  as  it  was  agoniz- 
ing. No  one  must  guess  what  lay  at  the  root  of  her  present 
suffering — not  even  comfortable  devoted  Mary,  nor  that 
invaluable  lifebelt,  Dr.  McCabe.  She  held  the  honour  of 
both  those  conflicting  interchangeable  personalities  in  her 
hands ;  and,  whether  she  were  strong  enough  to  adjust  their 
differences  or  not,  she  must  in  no  wise  betray  either  of 
them.  The  latent  motherhood  in  her  cried  out  to  protect 
and  to  shield  them  both,  to  spare  them  both.  For  in  this 
stage  of  the  affair,  while  the  hallucinations  of  deadly 
fever — in  a  sense  mercifully — confused  her,  its  grosser 
aspects  did  not  present  themselves  to  her  mind.  She  wan- 
dered through  mazes,  painful  enough  to  tread ;  but  far  re- 
moved from  the  ugliness  of  vulgar  scandal.  That  her 
sacred  secret,  for  instance,  might  be  no  more  than  a 
secret  de  Polichinelle  suspected  by  many,  did  not,  so  far, 
occur  to  her. 

Believing  it  to  be  her  exclusive  property,  therefore,  she, 
inspired  by  tender  cunning,  strove  manfully  to  keep  it  so. 
To  that  end  she  made  play  with  the  purely  physical 


.    THE  HARD  SCHOOL  OF  THINGS          137 

miseries  of  her  indisposition. — With  shivering  fits  and 
scorching  flushes,  cold  aching  limbs  and  burning,  aching 
head.  With  the  manifold  distractions  of  errant  blood 
which,  leaving  her  heart  empty  as  a  turned-down  glass, 
drummed  in  her  ears  and  throbbed  behind  her  eyeballs. 
These  discomforts  were  severely  real  enough,  in  all  con- 
science, to  excuse  her  for  being  self-occupied  and  a  trifle 
selfish ;  to  justify  a  blank  refusal  to  receive  Theresa  Bilson, 
or  attempt  to  retail  and  discuss  the  events  of  yesterday. 
All  she  craved  was  quiet,  to  be  left  alone,  to  lie  silent  in 
the  quiet  light  of  the  covered  grey  day. 

In  the  earlier  hours  of  it,  silver  rain  showers  travelled 
across  the  sea  to  spend  themselves,  tearfully,  against  the 
panes  of  her  bedroom  windows.  But  towards  evening  the 
cloud  lifted,  revealing  a  watery  sunset,  spread  in  timid 
reds  and  yellows  behind  Stone  Horse  Head  and  the  curv- 
ing coast-line  beyond,  away  to  Stourmouth  and  Barryport. 
The  faint  tentative  colours  struck  in  long  glinting  shafts 
between  the  trunks  and  branches  of  the  stone  pines  and 
Scotch  firs  in  the  so-called  Wilderness — a  strip  of  unculti- 
vated land  within  the  confines  of  the  grounds  dividing  the 
gardens  from  the  open  Warren  to  the  West — and  gleamed 
in  at  the  windows,  faintly  dyeing  the  dimity  hangings  and 
embroidered  linen  counterpane  of  Damaris'  bed. 

Throughout  the  afternoon  she  had  been  less  restless. 
So  that  Mary  Fisher,  judging  her  to  be  fairly  asleep,  some 
five  minutes  earlier  had  folded  her  needlework  together, 
and,  leaving  the  chair  where  she  sat  sewing,  went  softly 
from  the  room. 

But  that  brightening  of  sunset  disturbed  Damaris,  bring- 
ing her  slowly  awake.  For  a  time  she  lay  watching,  though 
but  half  consciously  the  tinted  radiance  as — the  trees  now 
stirred  by  a  little  wind  drawing  out  of  the  sunset — it 
shifted  and  flitted  over  the  white  surfaces.  At  first  it 
pleased  her  idle  fancy.  But  presently  distressed  her,  as 
too  thin,  too  chill,  too  restlessly  unsubstantial,  the  veriest 
chippering  ghost  of  colour  and  of  light.  It  affected  her 
with  a  desolating  sadness  as  of  failure;  of  great  designs 
richly  attempted  but  petering  out  into  a  pitiful  nothing- 


138  DEADHAM  HARD 

ness;  of  love  which  aped  and  mimicked,  being  drained  of 
all  purpose  and  splendour  of  hot  blood ;  of  partings  whose 
sorrow  had  lost  its  savour,  yet  which  masqueraded  in 
showy  crape  for  a  heartbreak  long  grown  stale  and 
obsolete. 

Her  temperature  rushed  up ;  and  she  threw  off  the  bed- 
clothes, raising  herself  on  her  elbow,  while  the  shafts  of 
thin  brightness  wavered  fitfully.  Through  them  she  saw 
the  photographs  of  her  father  step  out  of  their  frames 
again,  and  growing  very  tall  and  spare,  stalk  to  and  fro. 
Other  figures  joined  them — those  of  women.  Her  poor 
dear  Nannie,  in  the  plain  quaker-grey  cotton  gown  and 
black  silk  apron  she  used  to  wear,  even  through  the  breath- 
less hot-weather  days,  at  the  Sultan-i-bagh  long  ago.  And 
Henrietta  Pereira,  too,  composed  and  delicately  sprightly, 
arrayed  in  full  flounced  muslins  and  fine  laces  with  an 
exquisiteness  of  high  feminine  grace  and  refinement  which 
had  enthralled  her  baby  soul  and  senses,  and,  which  held 
her  captive  by  their  charm  even  yet.  A  handsome,  high- 
coloured  full-breasted,  Eurasian  girl,  whom  she  but  dimly 
recollected,  was  there  as  well.  And  with  these  another 
— carrying  very  certainly  no  hint  of  things  oriental  about 
her — an  English  woman  and  of  the  people,  in  dull  homely 
clothing,  grave  of  aspect  and  of  bearing ;  yet  behind  whose 
statuesque  and  sternly  patient  beauty  a  great  flame  seemed 
to  quiver,  offering  sharp  enough  contrast  to  the  frail  glint- 
ings  of  the  rain-washed  sunset  amid  which  she,  just  now, 
moved. 

At  sight  of  the  last  comer,  Damaris  started  up,  tense 
with  wonder  and  excitement,  since  she  knew — somehow — 
this  final  visitant  belonged  not  to  the  past  so  much  as  to 
the  present,  that  her  power  was  unexhausted  and  would 
go  forward  to  the  shaping  of  the  coming  years.  Which 
knowledge  drew  confirmation  from  what  immediately  fol- 
lowed. For,  as  by  almost  imperceptible  degrees  the  bright- 
ness faded  in  the  west,  the  figures,  so  mysteriously  peopling 
the  room,  faded  out  also,  until  only  the  woman  in  homely 
garments  was  left.  By  her  side  stood  the  charcoal  drawing 
of  Sir  Charles  Verity  from  off  the  wall — or  seemed  to  do 


THE  HARD  SCHOOL  OF  THINGS          139 

so,  for  almost  at  once,  Damaris  saw  that  dreaded  inter- 
change of  personality  again  take  place.  Saw  the  strongly 
marked  features  soften  in  outline,  the  face  grow  bearded 
yet  younger  by  full  thirty  years. 

Both  the  woman  and  the  young  man  looked  searchingly 
at  her;  and  in  the  eyes  of  both  she  read  the  same  question 
— what  did  she  mean  to  do,  what  to  say,  when  her  father, 
the  object  of  her  adoration,  came  home  to  her,  came  back 
to  Deadham  Hard? 

' '  I  will  do  right, ' '  she  cried  out  loud  to  them  in  answer, 
11  Only  trust  me.  I  am  so  tired  and  it  is  all  so  difficult  to 
believe  and  to  understand.  But  I  am  trying  to  understand. 
I  shall  understand,  if  you  will  give  me  time  and  not 
hurry  me.  And,  when  I  understand,  indeed,  indeed,  you 
may  trust  me,  whatever  it  costs,  to  do  right." 

Just  then  Mary  opened  the  door,  entering  quickly,  and 
behind  her  came  Dr.  McCabe,  to  find  Damaris  talking, 
talking  wildly,  sitting  up,  parched  and  vivid  with  fever, 
in  the  disordered  bed. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

TELLING  HOW  TWO  PERSONS,  OF  VERY  DIFFERENT  MORAL 
CALIBRE,  WERE  COMPELLED  TO  WEAR  THE  FLOWER  OF  HUMILI- 
ATION IN  THEIR  RESPECTIVE  BUTTONHOLES 

CROSS-country  connections  by  rail  were  not  easy  to 
make,  with  the  consequence  that  Sir  Charles  Verity, 
— Hordle,  gun-cases,  bags  and  portmanteaux,  in  at- 
tendance— did  not  reach  The  Hard  until  close  upon  mid- 
night. 

Hearing  the  brougham  at  last  drive  up,  Theresa  Bilson 
felt  rapturously  fluttered.  Her  course  had  been  notably 
empty  of  situations  and  of  adventure;  drama,  as  in  the 
case  of  so  many  ladies  of  her  profession — the  pages  of 
fiction  notwithstanding — conspicuously  cold-shouldering 
and  giving  her  the  go-by.  Now,  drama,  and  that  of  richest 
quality  might  perhaps — for  she  admitted  the  existence  of 
awkward  conjunctions — be  said  to  batter  at  her  door. 
She  thought  of  the  Miss  Minetts,  her  ever-willing  audience. 
She  thought  also — as  so  frequently  during  the  last,  in  some 
respects,  extremely  unsatisfactory  twenty-four  hours — of 
Mr.  Rochester  and  of  Jane  Eyre.  Not  that  she  ranged  her- 
self with  Jane  socially  or  as  to  scholastic  attainments.  In 
both  these,  as  in  natural  refinement,  propriety  and  nice- 
ness  of  ideas,  she  reckoned  herself  easily  to  surpass  that 
much  canvassed  heroine.  The  flavour  of  the  evangelical 
charity-school  adhered — incontestably  it  adhered,  and 
that  to  Jane's  disadvantage.  No  extravagance  of 
Protestantism  or  of  applied  philanthropy,  thank  heaven, 
-clouded  Theresa's  early  record.  The  genius  of  Tractarian- 
ism  had  rocked  her  cradle,  and  subsequently  ruled  her 
studies  with  a  narrowly  complacent  pedantry  all  its  own. 
Nevertheless  in  moments  of  expansion,  such  as  the  present, 
she  felt  the  parallel  between  her  own  case  and  that  of  Jane 

140 


THE  HARD  SCHOOL  OF  THINGS          141 

did,  in  certain  directions,  romantically  hold.  Fortified  by 
thought  of  the  Miss  Minetts'  agitated  interest  in  all  which 
might  befall  her,  she  indulged  in  imaginary  conversations 
with  that  great  proconsul,  her  employer — the  theme  of 
which,  purged  of  lyrical  redundancies,  reduced  itself  to  the 
somewhat  crude  announcement  that  "  your  daughter,  yes, 
may,  alas,  not  impossibly  be  taken  from,  you;  but  I, 
Theresa,  still  remain." 

When,  however,  a  summons  to  the  presence  of  the  said 
employer  actually  reached  her,  the  bounce  born  of  imagir- 
nary  conversations,  showed  a  tendency,  as  is  its  habit, 
basely  to  desert  her  and  soak  clean  away.  She  had 
promised  herself  a  little  scene,  full  of  respectful  solicitude, 
of  sympathy  discreetly  offered  and  graciously  accepted, 
a  drawing  together  through  the  workings  of  mutual  anxiety 
leading  on  to  closer  intercourse,  her  own  breast,  to  put  it 
pictorially,  that  on  which  the  stricken  parent  should 
eventually  and  gratefully  lean.  But  in  all  this  she  was 
disappointed,  for  Sir  Charles  did  not  linger  over  pre- 
liminaries. He  came  straight  and  unceremoniously  to  the 
point;  and  that  with  so  cold  and  lofty  a  manner  that, 
although  flutterings  remained,  they  parted  company  with 
all  and  any  emotions  even  remotely  allied  to  rapture. 

Charles  Verity  stood  motionless  before  the  fire-place  in 
the  long  sitting-room.  He  still  were  a  heavy  frieze  travel- 
ling coat,  the  fronts  of  it  hanging  open.  His  shoulders 
were  a  trifle  humped  up  and  his  head  bent,  as  he  looked 
down  at  the  black  and  buff  of  the  tiger  skin  at  his  feet. 
When  Theresa  approached  with  her  jerky  consequential 
little  walk — pinkly  self-conscious  behind  her  gold-rimmed 
glasses — he  glanced  at  her,  revealing  a  fiercely  careworn 
countenance,  but  made  no  movement  to  shake  hands  with 
or  otherwise  greet  her.  This  omission  she  hardly  noticed, 
already  growing  abject  before  his  magnificence — for  thus 
did  his  appearance  impress  her — which,  while  claiming  her 
enthusiastic  admiration,  enjoined  humility  rather  than 
the  sentimental  expansions  in  which  her  imaginary  con- 
versations had  so  conspicuously  abounded. 

"  I  have  seen  Dr.  McCabe,"  he  began.    "  His  report  of 


142  DEADHAM  HARD 

Damans'  condition  is  very  far  from  reassuring.  He  tells 
me  her  illness  presents  peculiar  symptoms,  and  is  grave 
out  of  all  proportion  to  its  apparent  cause.  This  makes 
me  extremely  uneasy.  It  is  impossible  to  quescion  her  at 
present.  She  must  be  spared  all  exertion  and  agitation. 
I  have  not  attempted  to  see  her  yet." 

He  paused,  while  anger  towards  her  ex-pupil  waxed 
warm  in  Theresa  once  again.  For  the  pause  was  eloquent, 
as  his  voice  had  been  when  speaking  about  his  daughter,  of 
a  depth  of  underlying  tenderness  which  filled  his  hearer 
with  envy. 

"  I  must  therefore  ask  you,  Miss  Bilson,"  he  presently 
went  on,  "  to  give  me  a  detailed  account  of  all  that  took 
place  yesterday.  It  is  important  I  should  know  exactly 
what  occurred." 

Whereat  Theresa,  perceiving  pitfalls  alike  in  statement 
and  in  suppression  of  fact,  hesitated  and  gobbled  to  the 
near  neighbourhood  of  positive  incoherence,  while  ad- 
mitting, and  trying  to  avoid  admitting,  how  inconveniently 
ignorant  of  precise  details  she  herself  was. 

"  Perhaps  I  erred  in  not  more  firmly  insisting  upon  an 
immediate  enquiry,"  she  said.  "  But,  at  the  time,  alarm 
appeared  so  totally  uncalled  for.  I  assumed,  from  what 
was  told  me,  and  from  my  knowledge  of  the  strength  of 
Damaris'  constitution,  that  a  night's  rest  would  fully 
restore  her  to  her  usual  robust  state  of  health,  and  so  de- 
ferred my  enquiry.  The  servants  were  excited  and  upset, 
so  I  felt  their  account  might  be  misleading — all  they  said 
was  so  confused,  so  far  from  explicit.  lily  position  was 
most  difficult,  Sir  Charles,"  she  assured  him  and  inci- 
dentally, also,  assured  herself.  "  I  encountered  most  try- 
ing opposition,  which  made  me  feel  it  would  be  wiser  to 
wait  until  this  morning.  By  then,  I  hoped,  the  maids 
would  have  had  time  to  recollect  themselves  and  recollect 
what  is  becoming  towards  their  superiors  in  the  way  of 
obedience  and  respect." 

Charles  Verity  threw  back  his  head  with  a  movement  of 
impatience,  and  looked  down  at  her  from  under  his  eyelids 
— in  effect  weary  and  a  little  insolent. 


THE  HARD  SCHOOL  OF  THINGS          143 

"  We  seem  to  be  at  cross  purposes,  Miss  Bilson,"  he 
said.  "  You  do  not,  I  think  quite  follow  my  question.  I 
did  not  ask  for  the  servants'  account  of  the  events  of  yes- 
terday— whatever  those  events  may  have  been — but  for 
your  own." 

"  Ah!  it  is  so  unfortunate,  so  exceedingly  unfortunate," 
Theresa  broke  out,  literally  wringing  her  hands,  "  but  a 
contingency,  an  accident,  which  I  could  not  possibly  have 
foreseen — I  cannot  but  blame  Damaris,  Sir  Charles  " 

"  Indeed?  "  he  said. 

"  No,  truly  I  cannot  but  blame  her  for  wilfulness.  If 
she  had  consented — as  I  so  affectionately  urged — to  join 
the  choir  treat  to  Harchester,  this  painful  incident  would 
have  been  spared  us." 

' '  Am  I  to  understand  that  you  went  to  Harchester,  leav- 
ing my  daughter  here  alone?  ): 

"  Her  going  would  have  given  so  much  pleasure  in  the 
parish,"  Theresa  pursued,  dodging  the  question  with  the 
ingenuity  of  one  who  scents  mortal  danger.  "  Her  refusal 
would,  I  knew,  cause  sincere  disappointment.  I  could  not 
bring  myself  to  accentuate  that  disappointment.  Not  that 
I,  of  course,  am  of  any  importance  save  as  coming  from 
this  house,  as — as — in  some  degree  your  delegate,  Sir 
Charles." 

"  Indeed?  "  he  said. 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  Theresa  almost  hysterically  repeated. 

For  here — if  anywhere — was  her  chance,  as  she  recog- 
nized. Never  again  might  she  be  thus  near  to  him,  alone 
with  him — the  normal  routine  made  it  wholly  improbable. 
— And  at  midnight  too.  For  the  unaccustomed  lateness 
of  the  hour  undoubtedly  added  to  her  ferment,  provoking 
in  her  obscure  and  novel  hopes  and  hungers.  Hence  she 
blindly  and — her  action  viewed  from  a  certain  angle— 
quite  heroically  precipitated  herself.  Heroically,  because 
the  odds  were  hopelessly  adverse,  her  equipment,  whether 
of  natural  or  artificial,  being  so  conspicuously  slender. 
Her  attempt  had  no  backing  in  play  of  feature,  felicity 
of  gesture,  grace  of  diction.  The  commonest  little  actress 
that  ever  daubed  her  skin  with  grease-paint,  would  have 


144  DEADHAM  HARD 

the  advantage  of  Theresa  in  the  thousand  and  one  arts 
by  which,  from  everlasting,  woman  has  limed  twigs  for  the 
catching  of  man.  Her  very  virtues — respectability,  learn- 
ing, all  the  proprieties  of  her  narrowly  virtuous  little  life 
— counted  for  so  much  against  her  in  the  present  supreme 
moment  of  her  self-invented  romance. 

"  You  hardly,  I  dare  say,"  she  pursued — "  how  should 
you  after  the  commanding  positions  you  have  occupied? 
— appreciate  the  feelings  of  the  inhabitants  of  this  quiet 
country  parish  towards  you.  But  they  have  a  lively  sense, 
believe  me,  of  the  honour  you  confer  upon  them,  all  and 
severally — I  am  speaking  of  the  educated  classes  in  partic- 
ular, of  course — by  residing  among  them.  They  admire 
and  reverence  you  so  much,  so  genuinely;  and  they  have 
extended  great  kindness  to  me  as  a  member  of  your  house- 
hold. How  can  I  be  indifferent  to  it?  I  am  thankful, 
Sir  Charles,  I  am  grateful — the  more  so  that  I  have 
the  happiness  of  knowing  I  owe  the  consideration  with 
which  I  am  treated,  in  Deadham,  entirely  to  you. — Yes, 
yes,"  she  cried  in  rising  exaltation,  "  I  do  not  deny  that 
I  went  to  Harchester  yesterday — went — Dr.  Horniblow 
thus  expressed  it  when  inviting  me — '  as  representing  The 
Hard.'  I  was  away  when  Damaris  made  this  ill-judged 
excursion  across  the  river  to  the  Bar.  Had  she  confided 
her  intention  to  me,  I  should  have  used  my  authority  and 
forbade  her.  But  recently  we  have  not  been,  I  grieve  to 
say,  on  altogether  satisfactory  terms,  and  our  parting  yes- 
terday was  constrained,  I  am  afraid." 

Theresa  blushed  and  swallowed.  Fortunately  her  sense 
of  humour  was  limited;  but,  even  so,  she  could  not  but 
be  aware  of  a  dangerous  decline.  Not  only  of  bathos,  but 
of  vulgar  bathos,  from  which  gentility  revolted,  must  she 
be  the  exponent,  thanks  to  Damaris'  indiscretion! 

"  You  require  me  to  give  you  the  details,  Sir  Charles," 
she  resumed,  "  and  although  it  is  both  embarrassing  and 
repugnant  to  me  to  do  so,  I  obey.  I  fear  Damaris  so  far 
forgot  herself — forgot  I  mean  what  is  due  to  her  age  and 
position — as  to  remove  her  shoes  and  stockings  and  paddle 
in  the  sea — a  most  unsuitable  and  childish  occupation. 


THE  HARD  SCHOOL  OF  THINGS          145 

While  she  was  thus  engaged  her  things — her  shoes  and 
stockings — appear  to  have  been  stolen.  In  any  case  she 
was  unable  to  find  them  when  tired  of  the  amusement  she 
came  up  on  to  the  beach.  Moreover  she  was  caught  in  the 
rain.  And  I  deeply  regret  to  tell  you — but  I  merely  re- 
peat what  I  learned  from  Mary  Fisher  and  Mrs.  Cooper 
when  I  returned — it  was  not  till  after  dark,  when  the 
maids  had  become  so  alarmed  that  they  despatched  Tolling 
and  Alfred  to  search  for  her,  that  Damaris  landed  from  a 
boat  at  the  breakwater,  having  been  brought  down  the 
river — by — by  " 

Throughout  the  earlier  portion  of  her  recital  Charles 
Verity  stood  in  the  same  place  and  same  attitude  staring 
down  at  the  tiger  skin.  Twice  or  thrice  only  he  raised  his 
eyes,  looking  at  the  speaker  with  a  flash  of  arrogant  in- 
terrogation. 

Upon  one,  even  but  moderately,  versed  in  the  secular 
arts  of  twig-liming,  such  flashes  would  have  acted  as  an 
effective  warning  and  deterrent.  Not  so  upon  Theresa. 
She  barely  noticed  them,  as  blindly  heroic,  she  pounded 
along  leading  her  piteous  forlorn  hope.  Her  chance — her 
unique  chance,  in  nowise  to  be  missed — and,  still  more, 
those  obscure  hungers,  fed  by  the  excitement  of  this  mid- 
night tete-a-tete,  rushed  her  forward  upon  the  abyss; 
while  at  every  sputtering  sentence,  whether  of  adulation, 
misplaced  prudery,  or  thinly  veiled  animosity  towards 
Damaris,  she  became  more  tedious,  more  frankly  intolerable 
and  ridiculous  to  him  whose  favour  she  so  desperately 
sought.  Under  less  anxious  circumstances  Charles  Verity 
might  have  been  contemptuously  amused  at  this  exhibition 
of  futile  ardour.  Now  it  exasperated  him.  Yet  he  waited, 
in  rather  cruel  patience.  Presently  he  would  demolish 
her,  if  to  do  so  appeared  worth  the  trouble.  Meanwhile 
she  should  have  her  say,  since  incidentally  he  might  learn 
something  from  it  bearing  upon  the  cause  of  Damaris' 
illness. 

But  now,  when,  at  the  climax  of  her  narrative,  Theresa — 
seized  by  a  spasm  of  retrospective  resentment  and  jealousy, 
the  picture  of  the  young  man  carrying  the  girl  tenderly  in. 


146  DEADHAM  HARD 

his  arms  across  the  dusky  lawns  arising  before  her — 
choked  and  her  voice  cracked  up  into  a  bat-like  squeak- 
ing, Charles  Verity's  self-imposed  forbearance  ran  dry. 

"  I  must  remind  you  that  neither  my  time  nor  capacity 
of  listening  are  inexhaustible,  Miss  Bilson,"  he  said  to 
her.  "  May  I  ask  you  to  be  so  good  as  to  come  to  the  point. 
By  whom  was  Damaris  rescued  and  brought  home  last 
night?" 

"  Ah!  that  is  what  I  so  deeply  regret,"  Theresa  qua- 
vered, still  obstinately  dense  and  struggling  with  the  after 
convulsion  of  her  choke.  "  I  felt  so  shocked  and  annoyed 
on  your  account,  Sir  Charles,  when  the  maids  told  me, 
knowing  how  you  would  disapprove  such  a — such  an  inci- 
dent in  connection  with  Damaris. — She  was  brought  home, 
carried  " — she  paused — "  carried  indoors  by  the  owner 
of  that  objectionable  public-house  on  the  island.  He  holds 
some  position  in  the  Mercantile  Marine,  I  believe.  I  have 
seen  him  recently  once  or  twice  myself  in  the  village — 
his  name  is  Faircloth." 

Theresa  pursed  up  her  lips  as  she  finished  speaking. 
The  glasses  of  her  gold  pince-nez  seemed  to  gleam  aggres- 
sively in  the  lamplight.  The  backs  of  the  leather-bound 
volumes  in  the  many  book-cases  gleamed  also,  but  un- 
aggressively,  with  the  mellow  sheen — as  might  fancifully 
be  figured — of  the  ripe  and  tolerant  wisdom  their  pages 
enshrined.  The  pearl-grey  porcelain  company  of  Chinese 
monsters,  saints  and  godlings,  ranged  above  them  placid, 
mysteriously  smiling,  gleamed  as  well. 

For  a  time,  silence,  along  with  these  various  gleamings, 
sensibly,  even  a  little  uncannily,  held  possession  of  the 
room.  Then  Charles  Verity  moved,  stiffly,  and  for  once 
awkwardly,  all  of  a  piece.  Backed  against  the  mantel- 
shelf, throwing  his  right  arm  out  along  it  sharply  and 
heavily — careless  of  the  safety  of  clock  and  of  ornaments 
— as  though  overtaken  by  sudden  weakness  and  seeking 
support. 

"  Faircloth?  Of  course,  his  name  is  Faircloth,"  he  re- 
peated absently.  "  Yes,  of  course." 

But  whatever  the  nature  of  the  weakness  assailing  him, 


THE  HARD  SCHOOL  OF  THINGS          147 

it  soon,  apparently,  passed.  He  stood  upright,  his  face, 
perhaps,  a  shade  more  colourless  and  lean,  but  in  ex- 
pression fully  as  arrogant  and  formidably  calm  as  before. 

"  Very  well,  Miss  Bilson,"  he  began.  "  You  have  now 
given  me  all  the  information  I  require,  so  I  need  detain 
you  no  longer — save  to  say  this. — You  will,  if  you  please, 
consider  your  engagement  as  my  daughter's  companion 
terminated,  concluded  from  to-night.  You  are  free  to 
make  such  arrangements  as  may  suit  you;  and  you  will, 
I  trust,  pardon  my  adding  that  I  shall  be  obliged  by  your 
making  them  without  undue  delay." 

"  You  do  not  mean,"  Theresa  broke  out,  after  an  in- 
terval of  speechless  amazement — "  Sir  Charles,  you  cannot 
mean  that  you  dismiss  me — that  I  am  to  leave  The  Hard 
— to — to  go  away?  " 

"  I  mean  that  I  have  no  further  occasion  for  your 
services." 

Theresa  waved  her  arms  as  though  playing  some  eccen- 
tric game  of  ball. 

"  You  forget  the  servants,  the  conduct  of  the  house, 
Damaris'  need  of  a  chaperon,  her  still  unfinished  educa- 
tion— All  are  dependent  upon  me." 

"  Hardly  dependent,"  he  answered.  "  These  things,  I 
have  reason  to  think,  can  safely  be  trusted  to  other  hands, 
or  be  equally  safely  be  left  to  take  care  of  themselves." 

"  But  why  do  you  repudiate  me?  "  she  cried  again, 
rushing  upon  her  fate  in  the  bitterness  of  her  distraction. 
"  "What  have  I  done  to  deserve  such  harshness  and  humilia- 
tion? " 

"  I  gave  the  most  precious  of  my  possessions — Damaris 
— into  your  keeping,  and — and — well — we  see  the  result. 
Is  it  not  written  large  enough,  in  all  conscience,  for  the 
most  illiterate  to  read? — So  you  must  depart,  my  dear 
Miss  Bilson,  and  for  everyone's  sake,  the  sooner  the  better. 
There  can  be  no  further  discussion  of  the  matter.  Pray 
accept  the  fact  that  our  interview  is  closed." 

But  Theresa,  now  sensible  that  her  chance  was  in  act  of 
being  finally  ravished  away  from  her,  fell — or  rose — per- 
haps more  truly  the  latter — into  an  extraordinary  sincerity 


148  DEADHAM  HARD 

and  primitiveness  of  emotion.  She  cast  aside  nothing  less 
than  her  whole  personal  legend,  cast  aside  every  tradition 
and  influence  hitherto  so  strictly  governing  her  conduct 
and  her  thought.  Unluckily  the  physical  envelope  could 
not  so  readily  be  got  rid  of.  Matter  retained  its  original 
mould,  and  that  one  neither  seductive  nor  poetic. 

She  went  down  upon  her  fat  little  knees,  held  her  fat 
little  hands  aloft  as  in  an  impassioned  spontaneity  of 
worship. 

"  Sir  Charles,"  she  prayed,  while  tears  running  down 
her  full  cheeks  splashed  upon  her  protuberant  bosom — 
"  Sir  Charles  " 

He  looked  at  the  funny,  tubby,  jaunty,  would-be  smart, 
kneeling  figure. 

"  Oh!  you  inconceivably  foolish  woman,"  he  said  and 
turned  away. 

Did  more  than  that — walked  out  into  the  hall  and  to  his 
own  rooms,  opening  off  the  corridor.  In  the  offices  a  bell 
tinkled.  Theresa  scrambled  on  to  her  feet,  just  as  Hordle, 
in  response  to  its  summons,  arrived  at  the  sitting-room 
door. 

"  Did  you  ring,  Miss?  "  he  asked  grudgingly.  Less 
than  ever  was  she  in  favour  with  the  servants'  hall  to-night. 

Past  intelligible  utterance,  Theresa  merely  shook  her 
head  in  reply.  Made  a  return  upon  herself — began  to 
instruct  him  to  put  out  the  lamps  in  the  room.  Remem- 
bered that  now  and  henceforth  the  right  to  give  orders  in 
this  house  was  no  longer  hers;  and  broke  into  sobbing, 
the  sound  of  which  her  handkerchief  pressed  against  her 
mouth  quite  failed  to  stifle. 

About  an  hour  later,  having  bathed  and  changed,  Sir 
Charles  Verity  made  his  way  upstairs.  Upon  the  landing 
Dr.  McCabe  met  him. 

"Better,"  he  said,  "thank  the  heavenly  powers,  de- 
cidedly better.  Temperature  appreciably  lower,  and  the 
pulse  more  even.  Oh!  we're  on  the  road  very  hand- 
somely to  get  top  dog  of  the  devil  this  bout,  believe  me, 
Sir  Charles." 

"  Then  go  to  bed,  my  dear  fellow,"  the  other  answered. 


THE  HARD  SCHOOL  OF  THINGS          149 

"  I  will  take  over  the  rest  of  the  watch  for  you.  You  need 
not  be  afraid.  I  can  be  an  admirable  sick-nurse  on  oc- 
casion. And  by  the  way,  McCabe,  something  has  come 
to  my  knowledge  which  in  my  opinion  throws  con- 
siderable light  upon  the  symptoms  that  have  puzzled  you. 
Probably  I  shall  be  more  sure  of  my  facts  before  morning. 
I  will  explain  to  you  later,  if  it  should  seem  likely  to  be 
helpful  to  you  in  your  treatment  of  the  case.  Just  now, 
as  I  see  it,  the  matter  lies  exclusively  between  me  " — he 
smiled  looking  at  his  companion  full  and  steadily — "  be- 
tween me  " — he  repeated,  "  and  my  only  child." 

All  which  upon  the  face  of  it  might,  surely,  be  voted 
encouraging  enough.  Yet: 

11  Should  there  be  any  that  doubt  the  veritable  existence 
of  hell  fire,"  the  doctor  told  himself,  as  he  subsequently 
and  thankfully  pulled  on  his  night-shirt,  "  to  recover 
them,  and  in  double  quick  time,  of  their  heresy  let  'em 
but  look  in  my  friend  Verity's  eyes." — And  he  rounded 
off  the  sentence  with  an  oath. 


CHAPTER  IX 

AN  EXPERIMENT  IN  BRIDGE-BUILDING  OF  WHICH  TIME  ALONE 
CAN  FIX  THE  VALUES 

DAMARIS  lay  on  her  side,  her  face  turned  to  the 
wall.     When   Charles  Verity,   quietly  crossing  the 
room,  sat  down  in  an  easy  chair,  so  placed  at  the 
head  of  the  half -tester  bed  as  to  be  screened  from  it  by  the 
dimity  curtains,  she  sighed  and  slightly  shifted  her  posi- 
tion. 

Leaning  back,  he  crossed  his  legs  and  let  his  chin  drop 
on  his  breast.  He  had  barely  glanced  at  her  in  passing, 
receiving  a  vague  impression  of  the  outline  of  her  cheek,  of 
her  neck,  and  shoulders,  of  her  head,  dark  against  the 
dim  whiteness  on  which  it  rested,  and  the  long  dark  stream 
of  her  hair  spread  loose  across  the  pillows.  He  had  no 
wish  for  recognition — not  yet  awhile.  On  the  contrary,  it 
was  a  relief  to  have  time  in  which  silently  to  get  accus- 
tomed to  her  presence,  to  steep  himself  in  the  thought  of 
her,  before  speech  should  define  the  new  element  in- 
truded, as  he  believed,  into  his  and  her  relation.  Though 
little  enough — too  little,  so  said  some  of  his  critics — ham- 
pered by  fear  in  any  department,  he  consciously  dreaded 
the  smallest  modification  of  that  relation.  Among  the 
many  dissatisfactions  and  bitternesses  of  life,  it  shone 
forth  with  a  steady  light  of  purity  and  sweetness,  as  a 
thing  unspoiled,  unbreathed  on,  even,  by  what  is  ignoble 
or  base.  And  not  the  surface  of  it  alone  was  thus  free 
from  all  breath  of  defilement.  It  showed  clear  right 
through,  as  some  gem  of  the  purest  water.  To  keep  it 
thus  inviolate,  he  had  made  sacrifices  in  the  past  neither 
easy  nor  inconsiderable  to  a  man  of  his  temperament  and 
ambitions.  Hence  that  its  perfection  should  be  now  en- 
dangered was  to  him  the  more  exquisitely  hateful. 

150 


151 

Upon  the  altar  of  that  hatred,  promptly  without  scruple 
he  sacrificed  the  wretched  Theresa.  Most  of  us  are  so 
constituted  that,  at  a  certain  pass,  pleasure — of  a  sort — 
is  to  be  derived  from  witnessing  the  anguish  of  a  fellow 
creature.  In  all  save  the  grossly  degenerate  that  pleasure, 
however,  is  short-lived.  Keflection  follows,  in  which  we 
cut  to  ourselves  but  a  sorry  figure.  With  Charles  Verity, 
reflection  began  to  follow  before  he  had  spent  many 
minutes  in  Damaris'  sickroom.  For  here  the  atmosphere 
was,  at)  once,  grave  and  tender,  beautifully  honest  in  its 
innocence  of  the  things  of  the  flesh. — The  woman  had  been 
inconceivably  foolish,  from  every  point  of  view.  If  she 
had  known,  good  heavens,  if  she  had  only  known !  But  he 
inclined  now  to  the  more  merciful  view  that,  veritably, 
she  didn't  know;  that  her  practical,  even  her  theoretic, 
knowledge  was  insufficient  for  her  to  have  had  any  clear 
design.  It  was  just  a  blind  push  of  starved  animal  in- 
stinct. Of  course  she  must  go.  Her  remaining  in  the 
house  was  in  every  way  unpermissible ;  still  he  need  not, 
perhaps,  have  been  so  cold-bloodedly  precipitate  with  her. 

Anyhow  the  thing  was  done — it  was  done — He  raised  his 
shoulders  and  making  with  his  hands  a  graphic  gesture 
of  dismissal,  let  his  chin  drop  on  to  his  breast  again. 

For  the  East  had  left  its  mark  on  his  attitude  towards 
women  with  one  exception — that  of  his  daughter — Charles 
Verity,  like  most  men,  not  requiring  of  himself  to  be  too 
rigidly  consistent.  Hence  Theresa,  and  all  which  pertained 
to  her,  even  her  follies,  appeared  to  him  of  contemptibly 
small  moment  compared  with  the  developments  for  which 
those  follies  might  be  held  accidentally  responsible.  His 
mind  returned  to  that  main  theme  painfully.  He  en- 
visaged it  in  all  its  bearings,  not  sparing  himself.  Suf- 
fered, and  looked  on  at  his  own  suffering  with  a  stoicism 
somewhat  sardonic. 

Meanwhile  Damaris  slept.  His  nearness  had  not  dis- 
turbed her,  indeed  he  might  rather  suppose  its  effect  benefi- 
cent. For  her  breathing  grew  even,  just  sweetly  arid 
restfully  audible  in  the  intervals  of  other  sounds  reaching 
him  from  out  of  doors. 


152  DEADHAM  HARD 

The  wind,  drawing  out  of  the  sunset,  freshened  during 
the  night.  Now  it  blew  wet  and  gustily  from  south-west, 
sighing  through  the  pines  and  Scotch  firs  in  the  Wilder- 
ness. A  strand  of  the  yellow  Banksia  rose,  trained  against 
the  house  wall,  breaking  loose,  scratched  and  tapped  at  the 
window-panes  with  anxious  appealing  little  noises. 

Many  years  had  elapsed  since  Charles  Verity  spent  a 
night  upstairs  in  this  part  of  the  house,  and  by  degrees 
those  outdoor  sounds  attracted  his  attention  as  intimately 
familiar.  They  carried  him  back  to  his  boyhood,  to  the 
spacious  dreams  and  projects  of  adolescence.  He  could 
remember  just  such  gusty  wet  winds  swishing  through  the 
trees,  such  petulant  fingering  of  errant  creepers  upon  the 
windows,  when  he  stayed  here  during  the  holidays  from 
school  at  Harchester,  on  furlough  from  his  regiment,  and, 
later,  on  long  leave  from  India,  during  his  wonderful  little 
great-uncle 's  lifetime. 

And  his  thought  took  a  lighter  and  friendlier  vein,  re- 
calling that  polished,  polite,  encyclopaedic  minded  and 
witty  gentleman,  who  had  lived  to  within  a  few  months 
of  his  full  century  with  a  maximum  of  interest  and  enter- 
tainment to  himself,  and  a  minimum  of  injury  or  offence 
to  others.  To  the  last  he  retained  his  freshness  of  intel- 
lectual outlook,  his  insatiable  yet  discreet  curiosity.  Tak- 
ing it  as  a  whole,  should  his  life  be  judged  a  singularly 
futile  or  singularly  enviable  one?  Nothing  feminine,  save 
on  strictly  platonic  lines,  was  recorded  to  have  entered 
it  at  any  period.  Did  that  argue  remarkable  wisdom 
or  defective  courage,  or  some  abnormal  element  in 
a  composition  otherwise  deliciously  mundane  and 
human? 

Charles  had  debated  this  often.  Even  as  a  boy  it  had 
puzzled  him.  As  a  young  man  he  had  held  his  own  views 
on  the  subject,  not  without  lasting  effect.  For  one  winter 
he  had  passed  at  The  Hard,  in  the  fine  bodily  health  and 
vigour  of  his  early  thirties,  this  very  lack  of  women's 
society  contributed,  by  not  unnatural  reaction,  to  force 
the  idea  of  woman  hauntingly  upon  him — thereby  making 
possible  a  strange  and  hidden  love  passage  off  the  Dead 


THE  HARD  SCHOOL  OF  THINGS          153 

Sea  fruit  of  which  he  was  in  process  of  supping  here  to- 
night. 

— He  moved,  bent  forward,  setting  his  elbows  on  the 
two  chair  arms,  closing  his  eyes  as  he  listened,  and  leaning 
his  forehead  upon  his  raised  hands.  For  in  the  plaintive 
voice  of  the  moist,  fitful  southwesterly  wind  how,  to  his 
hearing,  the  buried,  half -forgotten  drama  re-lived  and  re- 
enacted  itself! 

It  dated  far  back,  to  a  period  when  his  career  was  still 
undetermined,  hedged  about  by  doubts  and  uncertainties 
— before  the  magnificent  and  terrible  years  of  the  Mutiny 
brought  him,  not  only  fame  and  distinction,  but  a  power 
of  self-expression  and  of  plain  seeing. — Before,  too,  his 
not  conspicuously  happy  marriage.  Before  the  Bhutpur 
appointment  tested  and  confirmed  his  reputation  as  a 
most  able  if  most  autocratic  ruler.  Before,  finally,  his 
term  of  service  under  the  Ameer  in  Afghanistan — that 
extraordinary  experience  of  alternate  good  and  evil  for- 
tune in  barbaric  internecine  warfare,  the  methods  and 
sentiments  of  which  represented  a  swing  back  of  three  or 
four  centuries,  Christianity,  and  the  attitude  of  mind  and 
conduct  Christianity  inculcates,  no  longer  an  even  nominal 
factor,  Mahomet,  sword  in  hand,  ruthlessly  outriding 
Christ. 

He  had  done  largely  more  than  the  average  Englishman, 
of  his  age  and  station,  towards  the  making  of  contempo- 
rary history.  Yet  it  occurred  to  him  now,  sitting  at 
Damaris'  bedside,  those  intervening  years  of  strenuous 
public  activity,  of  soldiering  and  of  administration,  along 
with  the  honours  reaped  in  them,  had  procured  cynically 
less  substantial  result,  cynically  less  ostensible  remainder, 
than  the  brief  and  hidden  intrigue  which  preceded  them. 
They  sank  away  as  water  spilt  on  sand — thus  in  his  present 
pain  he  pictured  it — leaving  barely  a  trace.  While  that 
fugitive  and  unlawful  indulgence  of  the  flesh  not  only 
begot  flesh,  but  spirit, — a  living  soul,  henceforth  and 
eternally  to  be  numbered  among  the  imperishable  genera- 
tions of  the  tragic  and  marvellous  children  of  men. 

Then,  aware  something  stirred  close  to  him,  Charles 


154  DEADHAM  HARD 

Verity  looked  up  sharply,  turning  his  head;  to  find 
Damaris — raised  on  one  elbow  planted  among  the  pillows 
— holding  aside  the  dimity  curtain  and  gazing  wonderingly 
yet  contentedly  in  his  face. 

"  Commissioner  Sahib,"  she  said,  softly,  "  I  didn't  know 
you'd  come  back.  I've  had  horrid  bad  dreams  and  seemed 
to  see  you — many  of  you — walking  about.  The  room  was 
full  of  you,  you  over  and  over  again ;  but  not  like  yourself, 
frightening,  not  loving  me,  busy  about  something  or  some- 
body else.  I  didn't  at  all  enjoy  that. — But  I  am  awake 
now,  aren  't  I  ?  I  needn  't  be  frightened  any  more ;  because 
you  do  love  me,  don't  you — and  this  really  is  you,  your 
very  ownself  ?  " 

She  put  up  her  face  to  be  kissed.  But  he,  in  obedience 
to  an  humility  heretofore  unfelt  by  and  unknown  to  him, 
leaning  sideways  kissed  the  hand  holding  aside  the  curtain 
rather  than  the  proffered  lips. 

"  Yes,  my  darling,  very  surely  it  is  me,"  he  said.  "  Any 
multiplication  of  specimens  is  quite  superfluous — a  single 
example  of  the  breed  is  enough,  conceivably  more  than 
enough." 

But  to  his  distress,  while  he  spoke,  he  saw  the  content 
die  out  of  Damaris'  expression  and  her  eyes  grow  distended 
and  startled.  She  glanced  oddly  at  the  hand  he  had  just 
kissed  and  then  at  him  again. 

"  It  seems  to  me  something  must  have  happened  which 
I  can't  exactly  remember,"  she  anxiously  told  him,  sitting 
upright  and  leaving  go  the  curtain  which  slipped  back 
into  place  shutting  off  the  arm-chair  and  its  occupant. 
."  Something  real,  I  mean,  not  just  bad  dreams.  I  know 
I  had  to  ask  you  about  it,  and  yet  I  didn't  want  to  ask 
you." 

Charles  Verity  rose  from  his  place,  slowly  walked  the 
length  of  the  room ;  and,  presently  returning,  stood  at  the 
foot  of  the  bed.  Damaris  still  sat  upright,  her  hands 
clasped,  her  hair  hanging  in  a  cloud  about  her  to  below 
the  waist.  The  light  was  low  and  the  shadow  cast  by  the 
bed-curtain  covered  her.  But,  through  it,  he  could  still 
distinguish  the  startled  anxiety  of  her  great  eyes  as  she 


THE  HARD  SCHOOL  OF  THINGS          155 

pondered,  trying  to  seize  and  hold  some  memory  which 
escaped  her.  And  he  felt  sick  at  heart,  assured  it  could 
be  but  a  matter  of  time  before  she  remembered ;  convinced 
now,  moreover,  what  she  would,  to  his  shame  and  sorrow, 
remember  in  the  end. 

The  purity  ini  which  he  delighted,  and  to  which  he  so 
frequently  and  almost  superstitiously  had  turned  for  re- 
freshment and  the  safeguarding  of  all  the  finest  instincts 
of  his  own  very  complex  nature,  would,  although  she  re- 
membered, remain  essentially  intact.  But,  even  so,  the 
surface  of  it  must  be,  as  he  apprehended,  henceforth  in 
some  sort  dimmed,  and  that  by  the  breath  of  his  own  long 
ago  misdoing.  The  revelation  of  passion  and  of  sex,  being 
practically  and  thus  intimately  forced  home  on  her,  the 
transparent  innocence  of  childhood  must  inevitably  pass 
away  from  her;  and,  through  that  same  passing  she  would 
consciously  go  forward,  embracing  the  privileges  and  the 
manifold  burdens,  the  physical  and  emotional  needs  and 
aspirations  of  a  grown  woman.  The  woman  might,  would 
— such  was  his  firm  belief — prove  a  glorious  creature.  But 
it  was  not  she  whom  he  wanted.  Her  development,  in 
proportion  as  it  was  rich  and  complete,  led  her  away  from 
and  made  her  independent  of  him. — No,  it  wasn't  she,  but 
the  child  whom  he  wanted.  And,  standing  at  the  foot  of 
Damaris'  bed,  he  knew,  with  a  cruel  certainty,  he  was  there 
just  simply  to  watch  the  child  die. 

Yes,  it  was  a  mere  matter  of  time.  Sooner  or  later  she 
would  put  a  leading  question — her  methods  being  bravely 
candid  and  direct.  Of  course,  it  was  open  to  him  to  meet 
that  question  with  blank  denial,  open  to  him  to  lie — as  is 
the  practice  of  the  world  when  such  damnably  awkward 
situations  come  along. — A  solution  having,  in  the  present 
case,  the  specious  argument  behind  it  that  in  so  doing 
he  would  spare  her,  save  her  pain,  in  addition  to  the  ob- 
vious one  that  he  would  save  his  own  skin.  Moreover,  if 
he  lied  he  could  trust  Damaris'  loyalty.  Whether  she 
believed  it  or  not,  she  would  accept  his  answer  as  final. 
No  further  question  upon  the  subject  would  ever  pass  her 
lips.  The  temptation  was  definite  and  great.  For  might 


156  DEADHAM  HARD 

not  the  lie,  if  he  could  stomach  his  disgust  at  telling  it, 
even  serve  to  prolong  the  life  of  the  child?  Should  he 
not  sell  his  honour  to  save  his  honour — if  it  came  to  that? 

Thus  he  debated,  his  nature  battling  with  itself,  while  at 
that  battle  he  stoically,  for  a  time,  looked  on.  But  when, 
at  last,  the  climax  was  reached,  and  Damaris  commenced 
to  speak,  stoicism  dragged  anchor.  For  he  could  conquer 
neither  his  disgust  nor  his  sorrow,  could  find  courage 
neither  for  his  denial  nor  for  watching  the  child  die. 
Leaving  the  foot  of  the  bed,  he  went  and  sat  down  in  the 
arm-chair,  where  the  dimity  curtain  screened  Damaris 
from  his,  and  him  from  Damaris'  sight. 

"  Commissioner  Sahib,"  she  began,  her  voice  grave  and 
low,  "  it  has  come  back  to  me — the  thing  I  had  to  ask 
you,  but  it  is  very  hard  to  say.  If  it  makes  you  angry, 
please  try  to  forgive  me — because  it  does  hurt  me  to  ask 
you.  It  hurts  me  through  and  through.  Only  I  can't 
speak  of  it.  I  oughtn't  just  to  leave  it.  To  leave  it  would 
be  wrong — wrong  by  you." 

"  Very  well,  my  darling,  ask  me  then,"  he  said,  a  little 
hoarsely. 

"  You  have  heard  about  my  being  out  on  the  Bar  and 
—and  all  that?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  I  have  heard." 

"  Captain  Faircloth,  who  found  me  and  brought  me 
home,  told  me  something." 

Damaris'  voice  broke  into  tones  of  imploring  tenderness. 

"  I  love  you,  Commissioner  Sahib,  you  know  how  I  love 
you — but — but  is  what  Captain  Faircloth  told  me  true?  " 

Whereupon  temptation  surged  up  anew,  inviting,  incit- 
ing Charles  Verity  to  lie — dressing  up  that  lie  in  the  cloak 
of  most  excellent  charity,  of  veritable  duty  towards 
Damaris'  fine  courage  and  her  precious  innocence.  And 
he  hedged,  keeping  open,  if  only  for  a  few  minutes  longer, 
the  way  of  escape. 

"  How  can  I  answer  until  I  know  what  he  did  tell 
you?  "  he  took  her  up,  at  last,  almost  coldly. 

"  That  he  is  your  son — is  my  brother,"  Damaris  said. 

Even  at  this  pass,  Charles  Verity  waited  before  finally 


THE  HARD  SCHOOL  OF  THINGS          157 

committing  himself,  thereby  unwittingly  giving  sentiment 
— in  the  shape  of  the  Powers  of  the  Air — the  chance  to 
take  a  rather  unfairly  extensive  hand  in  the  game. 

For  while  he  thus  waited,  he  could  not  but  be  aware, 
through  the  tense  silence  otherwise  reigning  in  the  room, 
of  the  tap  and  scratch  of  the  rose-spray  upon  the  window- 
panes;  of  the  swish  of  the  moist  gusty  wind  sweeping 
from  across  the  salt-marsh  and  mud-flats  of  the  Haven — 
from  the  black  cottages,  too,  beyond  the  warren,  gathered, 
as  somewhat  sinister  boon  companions,  about  the  bleak, 
grey  stone-built  Inn.  And  this  served  to  transfix  his  con- 
sciousness with  visions  of  what  once  had  been — he  know- 
ing so  exactly  how  it  would  all  sound,  all  look  out  there, 
the  wistful  desolation,  the  penetrating  appeal  bred  of 
the  inherent  sadness  of  the  place  on  a  wild  autumn  night 
such  as  this. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  at  last,  and  putting  a  great  constraint 
upon  himself  he  spoke  calmly,  without  sign  of  emotion. 
"  What  the  young  man  told  is  true,  Damaris,  perfectly 
true." 

"  I — I  thought  so,"  she  answered  back,  gravely. 
"  Though  I  didn't  understand  " — And,  after  a  moment's 
pause,  with  a  certain  hopelessness  of  resignation — 
"  Though  I  don't  understand  even  now." 

In  her  utterance  Charles  Verity  so  distinctly  heard  the 
last  words  of  the — to  him — dying  child,  that,  smitten  with 
raging  bitterness  of  grief  and  of  regret,  he  said: 

"  Nevertheless  it  is,  in  my  opinion,  disgraceful,  abomi- 
nable, that  he  should  have  made  the  occasion,  or,  to  put 
the  matter  at  its  best,  have  taken  advantage  of  the  occasion, 
when  you  were  alone  and,  in  a  sense,  at  his  mercy,  to  tell 
you  this  most  unhappy  thing." 

"  No,  no,"  Damaris  cried,  in  her  generous  eagerness 
catching  back  the  curtain  and  looking  at  him  nobly  un- 
selfconscious,  nobly  zealous  to  defend  and  to  set  right. 
"  You  mustn't  think  that.  He  didn't  start  with  any  in- 
tention of  telling  me.  He  fancied  I  might  have  lost  my 
way  among  the  sandhills,  that  I  might  be  frightened  or 
get  some  harm,  and  so  came  straight  to  look  for  me,  and 


158  DEADHAM  HARD 

take  care  of  me.  He  was  very  beautifully  kind ;  and  I  felt 
beautifully  safe  with  him — safe  in  the  same  way  I  feel 
safe  with  you,  almost." 

Her  mouth  was  soft,  her  eyes  alight — dangerously  alight 
now,  for  her  pulse  had  quickened.  As  she  pleaded  and 
protested  her  temperature  raced  up. 

"  It  happened  later,"  she  went  on,  "  when  we  were 
in  the  boat,  and  it  was  partly  my  fault.  He  wrapped  my 
feet  up  in  his  coat.  They  were  very  cold.  And  he  be- 
lieved I  was  asleep  because  I  didn't  speak  or  thank  him. 
I  was  so  tired,  and  everything  seemed  so  strange.  I 
couldn't  rouse  myself  somehow  to  speak.  And  as  he 
wrapped  them  in  his  coat,  he  kissed  my  feet,  thinking  I 
shouldn't  know.  But  I  wasn't  asleep,  and  it  displeased 
me.  I  felt  angry,  just  as  you  felt  when  you  condemned 
him  just  now." 

"  Ah!  as  I  felt  just  now!  "  he  commented,  closing  his 
eyes  and,  just  perceptibly,  bowing  his  head. 

"  Yes,  Commissioner  Sahib,  as  you  felt  just  now — but 
as,  please  you  mustn't  go  on  feeling. — What  he  had  done 
seemed  to  me  treacherous;  and  it  pained  as  well  as 
displeased  me.  But  in  all  that  I  was  unjust  and 
mistaken. — And  it  was  then,  because  he  saw  he'd 
pained  me,  displeased  and  made  me  angry,  that  he  told 
me  in  self-defence — told  me  to  show  he  wasn't  treacherous, 
but  had  the  right — a  right  no  one  else  in  all  the  world 
has  over  me  except  yourself." 

"  And  you  believed  this  young  man,  you  forgave  his 
audacity,  and  admitted  his  right?  "  Sir  Charles  said. 

He  leaned  back  in  the  angle  of  the  chair,  away  from 
her,  smiling  as  he  spoke — a  smile  which  both  bade  farewell 
and  mocked  at  the  sharpness  and  futility  of  the  grief 
which  that  farewell  brought  with  it.  For  this  was  a  grown 
woman  who  pleaded  with  him  surely,  acting  as  advocate? 
A  child,  compelled  to  treat  such  controversial,  such  de- 
batable matters'  at  all,  would  have  done  so  to  a  different 
rhythm,  in  a  different  spirit. 

"  Forgave  him?  But  after  just  the  first,  when,  I  had 
time  to  at  all  think  of  it,"  Damaris  answered  with  rather 


THE  HARD  SCHOOL  OF  THINGS         159 

desperate  bravery,  "  I  couldn't  see  there  was  anything 
for  me  to  forgive.  It  was  the  other  way  about.  For 
haven't  I  so  much  which  he  might  very  well  feel  belonged, 
or  should  have  belonged,  to  him?  " 

"  You  cut  deep,  my  dear,"  Sir  Charles  said  quietly. 

Still  holding  back  the  curtain  with  one  hand,  Damaris 
flung  herself  over  upon  her  face.  She  would  not  give 
way,  she  would  not  cry,  but  her  soul  was  in  travail.  These 
words,  as  coming  from  her  father,  were  anguish  to  her. 
She  could  look  at  him  no  longer,  and  lying  outstretched 
thus,  the  lines  of  her  gracious  body,  moulded  by  the  em- 
broidered linen  quilt,  quivered  from  head  to  heel.  Still 
that  travail  of  soul  should  bring  forth  fruit.  She  would 
not  give  in,  cost  what  anguish  it  might,  till  all  was  said. 

"  I  only  want  to  do  what  is  right,"  she  cried,  her  voice 
half  stifled  by  the  pillows.  "  You  know,  surely  you 
know,  how  I  love  you,  Commissioner  Sahib,  from  morning 
till  night  and  round  till  morning  again,  always  and  above 
all,  ever  since  I  can  first  remember.  But  this  is  different 
to  anything  that  has  ever  happened  to  me  before,  and 
it  wouldn't  be  right  not  to  speak  about  it.  It  would  be 
there  all  the  time,  and  it  would  creep  in  between  us — 
between  you  and  me — and  interfere  in  all  my  thinking 
about  you." 

"  It  may  very  well  do  that  in  any  case,  my  dear,"  he 
said. 

"  No — no,"  Damaris  answered  hotly,  "  not  if  I  do 
right  now — right  by  both.  For  you  must  not  entertain 
wrong  ideas  about  him — about  Captain  Faircloth  I  mean. 
You  must  not  suppose  he  said  a  word  about  my  having 
what  might,  or  ought  to  be  his.  He  couldn't  do  so.  He 
isn't  the  least  that  sort  of  person.  He  took  pains  to 
make  me  understand — I  couldn't  think  why  at  first,  it 
seemed  a  little  like  boasting — that  he  is  quite  well  off  and 
that  he's  very  proud  of  his  profession.  He  doesn't  want 
anything  from — from  us.  Oh!  no,"  she  cried,  "no." 

And,  in  her  excitement,  Damaris  raised  herself,  from 
the  small  of  her  back,  resting  on  her  elbows,  sphinx-like 
in  posture,  her  hands  and  arms — from  the  elbows — 


160  DEADHAM  HARD 

stretched  out  in  front  of  her  across  the  pillows.  Her 
face  was  flushed,  her  eyes  blazed.  There  was  storm  and 
vehemence  in  her  young  beauty. 

"  No — he's  too  much  like  you,  you  yourself,  Commis- 
sioner Sahib,  to  want  anything,  to  accept  anything  from 
other  people.  He  means  to  act'  for  himself,  and  make 
people  and  things  obey  him,  just  as  you  yourself  do. 
And,"  she  went  on,  with  a  daring  surely  not  a  little  mag- 
nificent under  the  circumstances — "  he  told  me  he  loved 
life  too  well  to  care  very  much  how  he  came  by  it  to 
begin  with." 

Damaris  folded  her  arms,  let  her  head  sink  on  them  as 
she  finished  speaking,  and  lay  flat  thus,  her  face  hidden, 
while  she  breathed  short  and  raspingly,  struggling  to  con- 
trol the  after  violence  of  her  emotion. 

The  curtain  hung  straight.  The  wind  took  up  its  deso- 
late chant  again.  And  Sir  Charles  Verity  sat  back  in  the 
angle  of  the  arm-chair,  motionless,  and,  for  the  present, 
speechless. 

In  truth  he  was  greatly  moved,  stirred  to  the  deep  places 
of  perception,  and  of  conscience  also.  For  this  death  of 
childhood  and  birth  of  womanhood  undoubtedly  presented 
a  rare  and  telling  spectacle,  which,  even  while  it  rent  him, 
in  some  aspects  enraged  and  mortified  him,  he  still  appre- 
ciated. He  found,  indeed,  a  strangely  vital,  if  somewhat 
cruel,  satisfaction  in  looking  on  at  it — a  satisfaction  fed, 
on  its  more  humane  and  human  side,  by  the  testimony  to 
the  worth  of  the  unknown  son  by  the  so  well-beloved 
daughter.  Respecting  himself  he  might  have  cause  for 
shame ;  but  respecting  these  two  beings  for  whose  existence 
— whether  born  in  wedlock  or  out  of  it — he  was  responsi- 
ble, he  had  no  cause  for  shame.  In  his  first  knowledge  of 
them  as  seen  together,  they  showed  strong,  generous,  sure 
of  purpose,  a  glamour  of  high  romance  in  their  adventi- 
tious meeting  and  companionship. 

This  was  the  first,  the  unworldly  and  perhaps  deepest 
view  of  the  matter.  In  it  Charles  Verity  allowed  himself 
to  rest,  inactive  for  a  space.  That  there  were,  not  one, 
but  many  other  views  of  the  said  matter,  very  differently 


161 

attuned  and  coloured  he  was  perfectly  well  aware.  Soon 
these  would  leap  on  him,  and  that  with  an  ugly  clamour 
which  he  consciously  turned  from  in  repulsion  and  weary 
disgust.  For  he  was  very  tired,  as  he  now  realized.  The 
anxiety  endured  during  his  tedious  cross-country  journey, 
the  distasteful  tragic-comedy  of  the  sctne  de  seduction 
so  artlessly  made  him  by  unlucky  Theresa  Bilson,  followed 
by  this  prolonged  vigil;  lastly  the  very  real  tragedy — 
for  such  it  in  great  measure  remained  and  must  remain — 
of  his  interview  with  Damaris  and  the  re-living  of  long 
buried  drama  that  interview  entailed,  left  him  mentally 
and  physically  spent.  He  fell  away  into  meditation, 
mournful  as  it  was  indefinite,  while  the  classic  lament  of 
another  age  and  race  formed  itself  silently  upon  his  lips. 

"  CompreTienderunt  me  iniquitates  meae,  et  non  potui 
ut  viderem.  Multiplicatae  sunt  super  capillos  capitis  mei; 
et  cor  meum  dereliquit  me,"  he  quoted,  in  the  plenitude 
of  his  existing  discouragement. 

At  his  time  of  life,  he  told  himself,  earth  held  no  future ; 
and  in  heaven — as  the  Churches  figure  it — namely,  an 
adjustment  of  the  balance  on  the  other  side  death,  his 
belief  was  of  the  smallest.  A  sea  of  uncertainty,  vast, 
limitless,  laps  the  shores  of  the  meagre  island  of  the  present 
— which  is  all  we  actually  have  to  our  count.  Faith  is  a 
gift. — You  possess  it,  or  you  possess  it  not;  yet  without 
it 

But  here  his  attention  was  caught,  and  brought  home 
to  that  very  present,  by  a  movement  upon  the  bed  and 
Damaris'  voice,  asking  tremulously: 

"  Commissioner  Sahib  are  you  angry,  too  angry  to  speak 
to  me?  " 

Whereupon  Charles  Verity  got  up,  gathered  back  the 
curtain  stuffing  it  in  between  the  head  board  and  the  wall, 
and  stood,  tall,  spare,  yet  graceful,  looking  down  at  her. 
Whether  from  fatigue  or  from  emotion,  his  expression 
was  softer,  his  face  less  keen  than  usual,  and  the  likeness 
between  him  and  Darcy  Faircloth  proportionately  and 
notably  great. 

"  No,  my  dear,"  he  said,  "  why  should  I  be  angry? 


162  DEADHAM  HARD 

What  conceivable  right  have  I  to  be  angry?  As  a  man 
sows  so  does  he  reap.  I  only  reap  to-day  what  I  sowed 
eight  or  nine-and-twenty  years  ago — a  crop  largely  com- 
posed of  tares,  though  among  those  tares  I  do  find  some 
modicum  of  wheat.  Upon  that  modest  provision  of  wheat 
I  must  make  shift  to  subsist  with  the  best  grace  I  may. 
No,  don't  cry,  my  darling.  It  is  useless.  Tears  never 
yet  altered  facts.  You  will  only  do  yourself  harm,  and 
put  a  crown  to  my  self-reproach." 

He  sat  down  on  the  side  of  the  bed,  taking  her  hand, 
holding  and  coaxing  it. 

"  Only  let  there  be  no  doubt  or  suspicion  on  your  part, 
my  dear,"  he  went  on.  "As  you  have  travelled  so  far 
along  this  dolorous  way,  take  courage  and  travel  a  little 
farther.  To  stop,  to  turn  back,  is  only  to  leave  your  mind 
open  to  all  manner  of  imaginations  worse  very  likely  than 
the  truth.  I  will  be  quite  plain  with  you.  This  episode 
— which  I  do  not  attempt  to  explain  or  excuse — took  place, 
and  ended,  several  years  before  I  first  met  your  mother. 
And  it  ended  absolutely.  Never,  by  either  written  or 
spoken  word,  have  I  held  any  communication  with  Lesbia 
Faircloth  since.  Never  have  I  attempted  to  see  her — this 
in  the  interests  of  her  reputation  every  bit  as  much  as  in 
those  of  my  own.  For  her  station  in  life  she  was  a  woman 
of  remarkable  qualities  and  character.  She  had  made  an 
ugly,  a  repulsive  marriage,  and  she  was  childless. — More 
than  this  it  is  not  seemly  I  should  tell  you." 

Charles  Verity  waited  a  minute  or  so.  He  still  coaxed 
Damaris'  hand,  calmly,  soothingly.  And  she  lay  very 
still  watching  him;,  but  with  half-closed  eyes,  striving  to 
prevent  the  tears  which  asked  so  persistently  to  be  shed. 
For  her  heart  went  out  to  him  in  a  new  and  overflowing 
tenderness,  in  an  exalted  pity  almost  maternal.  Never 
had  she  felt  him  more  attractive,  more,  in  a  sense,  royally 
lovable  than  in  this  hour  of  weariness,  of  moral  nakedness, 
and  humiliation. 

"  Not  until  I  had  rejoined  my  regiment  in  India,"  he 
presently  continued,  in  the  same  low  even  tones,  "  did 
I  hear  of  the  birth  of  her  son.  I  have  never  seen  him 


THE  HARD  SCHOOL  OF  THINGS          163 

— or  made  enquiries  regarding  him.  I  meant  to  let  the 
dead  bury  its  dead  in  this  matter.  For  everyone  concerned 
it  seemed  best  and  wisest  so.  Therefore  all  you  have  told 
me  to-night  comes  as  news  to  me — and  in  some  respects 
as  good  news.  For  I  gather  I  have  no  reason  to  be  ashamed 
of  this  young  man — which  on  your  account,  even  more  than 
on  my  own,  is  so  much  clear  gain. — But  I  oughtn't  to  have 
brought  you  here  to  live  at  Deadham.  I  ought  to  have 
taken  the  possibility  of  some  accidental  revelation,  such  as 
the  present  one,  into  serious  account  and  saved  you  from 
that.  To  expose  you,  however  remotely,  to  the  risk  was 
both  callous  and  stupid  on  my  part.  I  own  I  have  a 
strong  sentiment  for  this  house.  It  seemed  natural  and 
restful  to  return  to  it — the  only  house  to  call  a  home,  I 
have  ever  had.  And  so  much  has  happened  during  the 
last  eight  or  nine-and-twenty  years,  to  occupy  my  mind, 
that  I  had  grown  indifferent  and  had  practically  forgotten 
the  risks.  This  was  selfish,  self-indulgent,  lacking  in  con- 
sideration and  reverence  towards  you,  towards  your  peace 
of  mind,  your  innocence. — And  for  it,  my  darling,  I  beg 
your  forgiveness." 

Damaris  sat  up  in  the  bed,  raised  her  face  to  be  kissed. 

"  No — no,"  she  implored  him,  "  don't  say  that.  I  can't 
bear  to  have  you  say  it — to  have  you  speak  as  if  you  had 
been,  could  ever  be  anything  but  beautiful  and  perfect 
towards  me.  I  can 't  have  you,  not  even  for  a  little  minute, 
step  down,  from  the  high  place,  which  is  your  own,  and 
talk  of  forgiveness.  It  hurts  me. —  I  begin  to  understand 
that  your  world,  a  man's  world,  is  different  to  my  world 
— the  world,  I  mean,  in  which  I  have  been  brought  up.  I 
know  what  is  right  for  myself — but  it  would  be  silly  to 
believe  mine  is  the  only  Tightness  " 

"  Ah!  "  Charles  Verity  murmured,  under  his  breath, 
"  alas!  for  the  child  that  is  dead." 

And  leaning  forward  he  kissed  her  lips. 


CHAPTER  X 

TELLING    HOW    MISS    FELICIA    VERITY    UNSUCCESSFULLY 
ATTEMPTED  A  RESCUE 

WITH  the  assistance  of  the  Miss  Minetts,  reinforced 
by  a  bribe  of  five  shillings,  Theresa  Bilson  pro- 
cured a  boy  on  a  bicycle,  early  the  following  morn- 
ing, to  convey  a  note  the  twelve  miles  to  Paulton  Lacy 
— Mr.  Augustus  Cowden's  fine  Georgian  mansion,  situate 
just  within  the  Southern  boundaries  of  Arnewood  Forest. 
Miss  Felicia  Verity,  to  whom  the  note  was  addressed,  still 
enjoyed  the  hospitality  of  her  sister  and  brother-in-law; 
but  this,  as  Mrs.  Cowden  gave  her  roundly  to  understand, 
must  not  be  taken  to  include  erratic  demands  upon  the 
stables.  If  she  required  unexpectedly  to  visit  her  brother 
or  her  niece  at  Deadham  Hard,  she  must  contrive  to  do 
so  by  train,  and  by  such  hired  conveyances  as  the  wayside 
station  of  Paulton  Halt  at  this  end  of  her  journey,  and 
of  Marychurch  at  the  other,  might  be  equal  to  supplying. 
"  In  my  opinion,  Felicia,  it  is  quite  ridiculous  you 
should  attempt  to  go  there  at  all  to-day,"  Mrs.  Cowden, 
giving  over  for  the  moment  her  study  of  the  Morning 
Post,  commandingly  told  her.  "  If  Damaris  has  got  a 
cold  in  her  head  through  some  imprudence,  and  if  Charles 
has  called  Miss  Bilson  over  the  coals  for  not  being  more 
strict  with  her,  that  really  is  no  reason  why  Augustus' 
and  my  plans  for  the  afternoon  should  be  set  aside  or  why 
you  should  be  out  in  the  rain  for  hours  with  your  rheuma- 
tism. I  shall  not  even  mention  the  subject  to  Augustus. 
We  arranged  to  drive  over  to  Nap  worth  for  tea,  and  I 
never  let  anything  interfere  with  my  engagements  to  the 
Bulparcs  as  you  know.  I  encourage  Augustus  to  see  as 
much  as  possible  of  his  own  people. — I  have  no  doubt  in 
my  own  mind  that  the  account  of  Damaris'  illness  is  ab- 

164 


THE  HARD  SCHOOL  OF  THINGS          165 

surdly  exaggerated.  You  know  how  Charles  spoils  her! 
She  has  very  much  too  much  freedom;  and  little  Miss 
Bilson,  though  well-meaning,  is  incapable  of  coping  with 
a  headstrong  girl  like  Damaris.  She  ought — Damaris 
ought  I  mean — to  have  been  sent  to  a  finishing  school  for 
another  year  at  least.  She  might  then  have  found  her 
level.  If  Charles  had  consulted  me,  or  shown  the  least 
willingness  to  accept  my  advice,  I  should  have  insisted 
upon  the  finishing  school.  It  would  have  been  immensely 
to  Damaris'  advantage.  I  have  known  all  along  that  the 
haphazard  methods  of  her  education  were  bound  to  have 
deplorable  results. — But  look  here,  Felicia,  if  you  really 
intend  to  go  on  this  wild-goose-chase  notwithstanding  the 
rain,  let  the  boy  who  brought  the  note  order  Davis'  fly 
for  you  on  his  way  back.  He  passes  Paulton  Halt.  I  shall 
not  expect  you  before  dinner  to-night.  Now  that  is 
settled." 

With  which  she  returned  to  her  interrupted  study  of  the 
Morning  Post. 

The  above  pronouncement  while  rendering  Felicia  Verity 
somewhat  uneasy,  in  nowise  turned  her  from  her  purpose. 
Her  powers  of  sympathy  were  as  unlimited  as  they  were 
confused  and,  too  often,  ineffective.  Forever  she  ran  afier 
the  tribulations  of  her  fellow  creatures,  pouring  forth  on 
them  treasures  of  eager  sympathy,  but  without  discrimina- 
tion as  to  whether  the  said  tribulations  were  in  fact  trivial 
or  profound,  deserving  or  deserved.  That  anyone  under 
any  circumstances,  should  suffer,  be  uncomfortable  or 
unhappy,  filled  her  with  solicitude.  The  loss  of  an  eyelash, 
the  loss  of  a  fortune,  the  loss  of  the  hope  of  a  lifetime 
equally  ranked.  Illness  and  disease  appealed  to  her  in 
hardly  less  degree  than  unfortunate  affairs  of  the  heart. 
She  practised  the  detection  of  extenuating  circumstances 
as  one  might  practise  a  fine  art.  She  wallowed  in  senti- 
ment, in  short;  but  that  with  such  native  good-breeding 
and  singleness  of  mind,  as  went  far  to  redeem  the  said 
wallowings  from  morbidity  or  other  offence.  Her  friends 
and  acquaintances  loved  her,  quite  unconscionably  made 
use  of  her,  secretly  laughed  at  her,  grew  weary  of  her, 


166  DEADHAM  HARD 

declared  that  "  of  such  are  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven;  " 
and,  having  successfully  exploited  her,  turned  with  relief 
to  the  society  of  persons  frankly  belonging  to  the  kingdoms 
of  earth.  Men  petted  but  did  not  propose  to  her ;  affected 
to  confide  in  her,  but  carefully  withheld  the  heart  of  their 
confessions.  Tall,  thin,  gently  hurried  and  bird-like,  she 
yet  bore  a  quaint,  almost  mirthful,  resemblance  to  her 
brother,  Sir  Charles  Verity.  Such  was  the  lady  who  re- 
sponded, in  a  spirit  of  liveliest  charity,  to  Theresa's  wildly 
waved  flag  of  distress. 

By  the  time  Miss  Verity  reached  Marychurch  the  rain 
amounted  to  a  veritable  downpour.  Driven  by  the  south- 
westerly wind,  it  swept  in  sheets  over  the  low-lying 
country,  the  pallid  waters,  drab  mud-flats,  dingy  grey- 
green  salt-marsh,  and  rusty  brown  reed-beds  of  the  estu- 
ary. The  dusty  road,  running  alongside  this  last  through 
the  hamlets  of  Horny  Cross  and  Lampit,  grew  hourly 
deeper  in  gritty  mud.  Beyond  question  summer  and  all 
its  dear  delights  were  departed  and  the  chill  mournful- 
ness  of  autumn  reigned  in  their  stead. 

With  the  surrounding  mournfulness,  Miss  Verity's 
simple,  yet  devious,  mind  played  not  ungratefully.  For 
it  seemed  to  her  to  harmonize  with  the  true  inwardness 
of  her  mission,  offering  a  sympathetic  background  to  the 
news  of  her  niece's  indisposition  and  the  signals  of  distress 
flown  by  her  little  protegee,  Theresa  Bilson.  The  note  ad- 
dressed to  her  by  the  latter  was  couched  in  mysterious  and 
ambiguous  phrases,  the  purport  of  which  she  failed  to 
grasp.  Theresa's  handwriting,  usually  so  neat  and  pre- 
cise, was  wobbly,  bearing  unmistakable  traces  of  severe 
agitation  and  haste.  She  hinted  at  nothing  short  of  catas- 
trophe, though  whether  in  relation  to  herself,  to  her  ex- 
pupil,  or  to  Sir  Charles,  Miss  Verity  couldn't  for  the  life 
of  her  discover.  It  was  clear  in  any  case,  however,  that 
affairs  at  The  Hard  had,  for  cause  unknown,  gone  quite 
startlingly  astray,  and  that  Theresa  found  herself  entirely 
unequal  to  righting  them — hence  her  outcry. 

Under  these  circumstances,  it  struck  Miss  Verity  as  only 
tasteful  and  tactful  that  her  approach  to  the  distracted 


THE  HARD  SCHOOL  OF  THINGS          167 

dwelling  should  take  place  unheralded  by  rumble  of  wheels 
or  beat  of  horse-hoofs,  should  be  pitched  in  a,  so  to  speak, 
strictly  modest  and  minor  key.  On  arriving  at  the  front 
gate  she  therefore  alighted  and,  bidding  her  grumpy  and 
streaming  flyman  take  himself  and  his  frousty  landau  to 
the  Bell  and  Horns  in  Deadham  village  there  to  await  her 
further  orders,  proceeded  to  walk  up  the  carriage-drive 
under  the  swaying,  dripping  trees. 

About  fifty  yards  from  the  gate  the  drive  turns  sharply 
to  the  left;  and,  just  at  the  turn,  Miss  Verity  suddenly 
beheld  a  tall  figure  clad  in  a  seaman's  oilskins  and  sou'- 
wester, coming  towards  her  from  the  direction  of  the  house. 
Youth  and  good  looks — more  especially  perhaps  masculine 
ones — whatever  rank  of  life  might  exhibit  them,  acted  as  a 
sure  passport  to  Miss  Verity 's  gentle  heart.  And  the  youth 
and  good  looks  of  the  man  approaching  her  became  momen- 
tarily more  incontestable.  His  bearing,  too,  notwithstand- 
ing the  clumsiness  of  his  shiny  black  over-garment,  had  a 
slightly  ruffling,  gallantly  insolent  air  to  it,  eminently  cal- 
culated to  impress  her  swift  and  indulgent  fancy. 

The  young  man,  on  his  part,  calmly  took  stock  of  her 
appearance,  as  she  beat  up  against  the  wind,  her  flapping 
waterproof  cloak  giving  very  inefficient  protection  to  the 
rather  girlish  dove-grey  cashmere  dress,  picked  out  with 
pink  embroidery,  beneath  it.  At  first  his  eyes  challenged 
hers  in  slightly  defiant  and  amused  enquiry.  But  as  she 
smiled  back  at  him,  sweetly  eager,  ingenuously  benignant, 
his  glance  softened  and  his  hand  went  up  to  his  sou'wester 
with  a  courteous  gesture. 

"  What  weather!  "  she  exclaimed.  "  How  fearfully 
wet!" — while  her  expression  testified  to  a  flattering  in- 
terest and  admiration. 

"  Yes,  it's  a  wild  day,"  he  said,  in  answer.  "  I  expect 
we've  seen  the  last  of  the  sun,  anyhow  for  this  week." 

The  incident,  though  of  the  most  casual  and  briefest, 
gave  a  new  direction  to  Miss  Verity's  thought.  It  pleased 
and  intrigued  her,  bringing  a  pretty  blush  to  her  thin 
cheeks.  "  Who  and  what  can  he  be?  "  she  said  to  her- 
self. "  Where  can  I  have  seen  him  before?  "  And  the 


168  DEADHAM  HARD 

blush  deepened.    "  I  must  really  describe  him  to  Charles 
and  find  out  who  he  is." 

This  monologue  brought  her  as  far  as  the  front  door, 
at  which,  it  may  be  added,  she — though  by  no  means  im- 
patient— did  in  point  of  fact  ring  twice  before  the  man- 
servant answered  it.  Although  Mr.  Hordle  had  the  reputa- 
tion of  "  being  fond  of  his  joke  "  in  private  life,  in  his 
official  capacity  his  manner  offered  a  model  of  middle- 
aged  sedateness  and  restraint.  To-day  neither  humour  nor 
reserve  were  in  evidence,  but  a  harassed  and  hunted  look 
altogether  surprising  to  Miss  Verity.  He  stared  at  her, 
stared  past  her  along  the  drive,  before  attempting  to 
usher  her  into  the  hall  and  relieve  her  of  her  umbrella 
and  her  cloak. 

"  Sir  Charles  doesn't  expect  me,  Hordle,"  she  said. 
"  But  hearing  Miss  Damaris  was  unwell  I  came  over  from 
Paulton  Lacy  at  once." 

"  Quite  so,  ma'am.  Sir  Charles  has  not  left  his  room 
yet.  He  did  not  reach  home  till  late,  and  he  sat  up  with 
Miss  Damaris  the  rest  of  the  night." 

"Oh!  dear — did  he?  Then,  of  course,  I  wouldn't  dis- 
turb him  on  any  account,  Hordle.  I  had  better  see  Miss 
Bilson  first.  Will  you  tell  her  I  am  here?  " 

"  I  can  send  Laura  to  enquire,  ma'am.  But,  I  doubt  if 
Miss  Bilson,  will  care  to  come  downstairs  at  present." 

"  She  is  with  Miss  Damaris?  " 

"  No,  ma'am,  Miss  Bilson  is  not  with  Miss  Damaris." 

Hordle  paused  impressively,  sucking  in  his  under  lip. 

"  If  I  might  presume  to  advise,  ma'am,  I  think  it  would 
be  wise  you  should  see  Miss  Bilson  in  the  schoolroom — 
and  go  up  by  the  back  staircase,  ma'am,  if  you  don't 
object  so  as  to  avoid  passing  Miss  Damaris'  bedroom  door. 
I  should  not  presume  to  suggest  it,  ma'am,  but  that  our 
orders  as  to  quiet  are  very  strict." 

In  this  somewhat  ignominious  method  of  reaching  her 
objective  Miss  Verity,  although  more  and  more  mystified, 
amiably  acquiesced — to  be  greeted,  when  Hordle  throwing 
open  the  schoolroom  door  formally  announced  her,  by  a 
sound  closely  resembling  a  shriek. 


THE  HARD  SCHOOL  OF  THINGS          169 

Entrenched  behind  a  couple  of  yawning  trunks,  a  litter 
of  feminine  apparel  and  of  personal  effects — the  accumula- 
tion of  a  long  term  of  years,  for  she  was  an  inveterate 
hoarder — encumbering  every  available  surface,  the  carpet 
included,  Theresa  Bilson  stood  as  at  bay. 

"  My  dear  friend,"  Miss  Verity  exclaimed  advancing 
with  kindly  outstretched  hands — "  what  is  the  meaaing 
of  this?  " — She  looked  at  the  miscellaneous  turn-out  of 
cupboards  and  chests  of  drawers,  at  the  display  of 
garments  not  usually  submitted  to  the  public  gaze.  <;  Are 
you  preparing  a  rummage  sale  or  are  you — but  no,  surely 
not! — are  you  packing?  I  cannot  describe  how  anxious 
I  am  to  hear  what  has  occurred.  My  sister,  Mrs.  Cowden, 
was  extremely  adverse  to  my  facing  the  bad  weather ;  but, 
I  felt  your  note  could  only  be  answered  in  person.  Let  me 
hear  everything." 

She  drew  Theresa  from  behind  the  luggage  entrench- 
ments, and,  putting  aside  an  assortment  of  derelict  hats 
and  artificial  flowers  strewn  in  most  admired  confusion  on 
the  sofa,  made  her  sit  down  upon  the  said  piece  of  furni- 
ture beside  her. 

Whereupon,  in  the  pensive,  rain-washed,  midday  light, 
which  served  to  heighten  rather  than  mitigate  the  pre- 
vailing, very  unattractive  and  rather  stuffy  disorder  ob- 
taining in  the  room,  Theresa  Bilson,  not  without  chokings 
and  lamentations,  gave  forth  the  story  of  her — to  herself 
quite  spectacular — deposition  from  the  command  of  The 
Hard  and  its  household.  She  had  sufficiently  recovered 
her  normal  attitude,  by  this  time,  to.  pose  to  herself,  now 
as  a  heroine  of  one  of  Charlotte  Bronte's  novels,  now  as  a 
milder  and  more  refined  sample  of  injured  innocence  culled 
from  the  pages  of  Charlotte  Yonge.  A  narrow,  purely 
personal  view  inevitably  embodies  an  order  of  logic  cal- 
culated to  carry  conviction;  and  Theresa,  even  in  defeat, 
retained  a  degree  of  self-opinionated  astuteness.  She 
presented  her  case  effectively.  To  be  discharged,  and  that 
in  disgrace,  to  be  rendered  homeless,  cast  upon  the  world 
at  a  moment's  notice,  for  that  which — with  but  trifling, 
almost  unconscious,  manipulation  of  fact — could  be  made 


170  DEADHAM  HARD 

to  appear  as  nothing  worse  than  a  venial  error  of  judg- 
ment, did  really  sound  and  seem  most  unduly  drastic 
punishment. 

Miss  Verity's  first  instinct  was  to  fling  herself  into  the 
breech;  and,  directly  her  brother  emerged  from  his  room, 
demand  for  her  protegee  redress  and  reinstatement.  Her 
second  instinct  was — she  didn't,  in  truth,  quite  know  what 
— for  she  grew  sadly  perplexed  as  she  listened. 

Her  sympathy,  in  fact,  split  into  three  inconveniently 
distinct  and  separate  streams.  Of  these,  Theresa's  woes 
still  claimed  the  widest  and  deepest,  since  with  Theresa  she 
was  in  immediate  and  intimate  contact.  Yet  the  other  two 
began  to  show  a  quite  respectable  volume  and  current,  as 
she  pictured  Damaris  marooned  on  the  Bar  and  Sir 
Charles  ravished  away  from  the  seasonable  obligation  of 
partridge  shooting  to  take  his  place  at  his  daughter's  bed- 
side. 

"  But  this  young  Captain  Faircloth,  of  whom  you 
speak,"  she  presently  said,  her  mind  taking  one  of  its 
many  inconsequent  skippits — "  who  so  providentially  came 
to  the  dearest  child's  assistance — could  he,  I  wonder,  be 
the  same  really  very  interesting-looking  young  man  I  met 
in  the  drive,  just  now,  when  I  came  here?  " 

And  Miss  Verity  described  him,  while  a  pretty  stain  of 
colour  illuminated  her  cheek  once  more. 

"  You  think  quite  possibly  yes? — How  I  wish  I  had 
known  that  at  the  time.  I  would  certainly  have  stopped 
and  expressed  my  gratitude  to  him.  Such  a  mercy  he  was 
at  hand! — Poor  dearest  Damaris!  I  hope  his  good  offices 
have  already  been  acknowledged.  Do  you  know  if  my 
brother  has  seen  and  thanked  him?  " 

The  expression  of  Theresa's  round  little  face,  still  puffy 
and  blotched  from  her  last  night's  weeping,  held  a  world 
of  reproachful  remindings. 

"Ah!  no,"  the  other  cried  conscience-stricken — "no, 
of  course  not.  How  thoughtless  of  me  to  ask  you.  And  " 
— another  mental  skippit — "  and  that  you  should  be  for- 
bidden the  sickroom  too,  not  permitted  to  nurse  Damaris! 
My  poor  friend,  indeed  I  do  feel  for  you.  I  so  well  under- 


THE  HARD  SCHOOL  OF  THINGS          171 

stand  that  must  have  caused  you  more  pain  than  any- 
thing." 

A  remark  her  hearer  found  it  not  altogether  easy  to 
counter  with  advantage  to  her  own  cause,  so  wisely  let  it 
pass  in  silence. 

"  I  know — I  know,  you  can  hardly  trust  yourself  to 
speak  of  it.  I  am  so  grieved — so  very  grieved.  But  one 
must  be  practical.  I  think  you  are  wise  to  yield  without 
further  protest.  I  will  sound  my  brother — just  find  out 
if  he  shows  any  signs  of  relenting.  Of  course,  you  can 
understand,  I  ought  to  hear  his  view  of  the  matter  too — 
not,  that  I  question  your  account,  dear  friend,  for  one 
instant.  Meanwhile  make  all  your  arrangements." 

"  The  village!  " — Theresa  put  in,  with  a  note  of  despair 
this  time  perfectly  genuine. 

"  Ah,  yes — the  village.  But  if  I  take  you  away,  in  my 
fly  I  mean,  that  will  give  you  a  position,  a  standing.  It 
will  go  far  to  prevent  unpleasant  gossip!  " 

Miss  Verity's  soul  looked  out  of  her  candid  eyes  with  a 
positive  effulgence  of  charity. 

"  Oh!  I  can  enter  so  fully  into  your  shrinking  from  all 
that.  We  will  treat  your  going  as  temporary,  merely  tem- 
porary— in  speaking  of  it  both  here  and  at  Paulton  Lacy. 
Of  course,  you  might  stay  with  your  friends,  the  good  Miss 
Minetts;  but  I  can't  honestly  counsel  your  doing  so.  I 
am  afraid  Sir  Charles  might  not  quite  like  your  remaining 
in  Deadham  directly  after  leaving  his  house.  It  might 
be  awkward,  and  give  rise  to  tiresome  enquiries  and  com- 
ment. One  has  to  consider  those  things. — No — I  think  it 
would  be  a  far  better  plan  that  you  should  spend  a  week  at 
Stourmouth.  That  would  give  us  time  to  see  our  way 
more  clearly.  I  know  of  some  quite  nice  rooms  kept  by  a 
former  maid  of  Lady  Bulparc's.  You  would  be  quite  com- 
fortable there — and,  as  dinner  at  Paulton  Lacy  isn't  till 
eight,  I  could  quite  well  go  into  Stourmouth  with  you 
myself  this  afternoon.  And,  my  dear  friend,  you  will, 
won't  you,  forgive  my  speaking  of  this  " 

Miss  Verity — whose  income,  be  it  added,  was  anything 
but  princely — gave  an  engagingly  apologetic  little  laugh. 


172  DEADHAM  HARD 

"  Pray  don't  worry  yourself  on  the  score  of  expense. 
The  week  in  Stourmouth  must  cost  you  nothing.  As  I 
recommend  the  rooms  I  naturally  am  responsible — you 
go  to  them  as  my  guest,  of  course. — Still  I'll  sound  my 
brother  at  luncheon,  and  just  see  how  the  land  lies.  But 
don't  build  too  much  on  any  change  of  front.  I  don't 
expect  it — not  yet.  Later,  who  knows  ?  Meanwhile  courage 
— do  try  not  to  fret." 

And  Miss  Verity  descended  the  backstairs  again. 

"  Poor  creature — now  her  mind  will  be  more  at  rest,  I 
do  trust.  I  am  afraid  Charles  has  been  rather  severe.  I 
never  think  he  does  quite  understand  women.  But  how 
should  he  after  only  being  married  for  three — or  four 
years,  was  it? — Such  a  very  limited  experience! — It  is  a 
pity  he  didn't  marry  again,  while  Damaris  was  still  quite 
small — some  really  nice  woman  who  one  knows  about.  But 
I  suppose  Charles  has  never  cared  about  that  side  of 
things.  His  public  work  has  absorbed  him.  I  doubt  if  he 
has  ever  really  been  in  love  ' ' — Miss  Verity  sighed. — ' '  Yes, 
Hordle,  thanks  I'll  wait  in  the  long  sitting-room.  Please 
let  Sir  Charles  know  I  am  there,  that  I  came  over  to  en- 
quire for  Miss  Damaris.  He  is  getting  up? — Yes — I  shall 
be  here  to  luncheon,  thanks." 

But,  during  the  course  of  luncheon,  that  afore-men- 
tioned split  in  Miss  Verity's  sympathies  was  fated  to 
declare  itself  with  ever  growing  distinctness.  The  stream 
consecrated  to  Theresa's  woes — Theresa  herself  being  no 
longer  materially  present — declined  in  volume  and  in  force, 
while  that  commanded  by  Felicia's  affection  for  her  brother 
soon  rushed  down  in  spate.  Perhaps,  as  she  told  herself, 
it  was  partly  owing  to  the  light — which,  if  pensive  up- 
stairs in  the  white-walled  schoolroom,  might,  without  ex- 
aggeration, be  called  quite  dismally  gloomy  in  the  low- 
ceilinged  dining-room  looking  out  on  the  black  mass  of  the 
ilex  trees  over  a  havoc  of  storm-beaten  flower-beds — but 
Sir  Charles  struck  her  as  so  worn,  so  aged,  so  singularly 
and  pathetically  sad.  He  was  still  so  evidently  oppressed 
by  anxiety  concerning  Damaris  that,  to  hint  at  harsh  action 
on  hie  part,  or  plead  Theresa's  cause  with  convincing 


THE  HARD  SCHOOL  OF  THINGS          173 

earnestness  and  warmth,  became  out  of  the  question. 
Miss  Verity  hadn't  the  heart  for  it. 

"  Be  true  to  your  profession  of  good  Samaritan,  my 
dear  Felicia,"  he  begged  her  with  a  certain  rueful  humour, 
"  and  take  the  poor  foolish  woman  off  my  hands.  Plant 
her  where  you  like,  so  long  as  it  is  well  out  of  my 
neighbourhood.  She  has  made  an  egregious  fiasco  of  her 
position  here.  As  you  love  me,  just  remove  her  from 
my  sight — let  this  land  have  rest  and  enjoy  its  Sabbaths 
in  respect  of  her  at  least.  I'll  give  you  a  cheque  for  her 
salary,  something  in  excess  of  the  actual  amount  if  you 
like ;  for,  heaven  forbid,  you  should  be  out  of  pocket  your- 
self as  a  consequence  of  your  good  offices. — Now  let  us, 
please,  talk  of  some  less  unprofitable  subject." 

Brightly,  sweetly  eager,  Miss  Verity  hastened  to  obey, 
as  she  believed,  his  concluding  request. 

"  Ah!  yes,"  she  said,  "  that  reminds  me  of  something 
about  which  I  do  so  want  you  to  enlighten  me. — This  young 
Captain  Faircloth,  who  so  opportunely  appeared  on  the 
scene  and  rescued  darling  Damaris,  I  believe  I  met  him 
this  morning,  as  I  walked  up  from  the  front  gate.  I 
wondered  who  he  was.  His  appearance  interested  me,  so 
did  his  voice.  It  struck  me  as  being  so  quaintly  like  some 
voice  I  know  quite  well — and  I  stupidly  cannot  remember 
whose. ' ' 

The  coffee-cups  chattered  upon  the  silver  tray  as  Hordle 
handed  it  to  Miss  Verity. 

"  You  spoke  to  him  then?  "  Sir  Charles  presently  said. 

"  Oh!  just  in  passing,  you  know,  about  the  weather — 
which  was  phenomenally  bad,  raining  and  blowing  too 
wildly  at  the  moment.  I  supposed  you  had  seen  him. 
He  seemed  to  be  coming  away  from  the  house." 

Charles  Verity  turned  sideways  to  the  table,  bending 
down  a  little  over  the  tray  as  he  helped  him.  The  coffee 
splashed  over  into  the  saucer;  yet  it  was  not  the  hand 
holding  the  coffee-pot,  but  those  holding  the  tray  that 
shook.  Whereupon  Charles  Verity  glanced  up  into  the 
manservant's  face,  calmly  arrogant. 

"  Pray  be  careful,  Hordle,"  he  said.    And  then — "  I& 


174  DEADHAM  HARD 

Miss  Verity  right  in  supposing  Captain  Faircloth  called 
here  this  morning?  " 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Sir  Charles.  Yes,  Sir  Charles, 
he  did." 

"What  did  he  want?" 

"  He  came  to  enquire  after  Miss  Damaris,  Sir  Charles. 
I  understood  him  to  say  he  was  going  away  to  sea  shortly." 

"  Did  he  ask  for  me?  " 

"No,  Sir  Charles,"  rather  hurriedly;  and  later,  with 
visible  effort  to  recapture  the  perfection  of  well-trained 
nullity. — "  He  only  asked  after  Miss  Damaris." 

"  When  he  calls  again,  let  me  know.  Miss  Damaris 
wishes  to  see  him  if  she  is  sufficiently  well  to  do  so." 

"  Very  good,  Sir  Charles." 

And  during  this  conversation,  Felicia  felt  keenly  dis- 
tressed and  perplexed.  It  made  her  miserable  to  think 
evil  of  anyone — particularly  an  old  and  trusted  servant. 
But  from  the  moment  of  her  arrival  Hordle's  manner  had 
seemed  so  very  strange.  Of  course  it  was  horrid  even  to 
suspect  such  a  thing;  but  was  it  possible  that  he  over- 
indulged sometimes,  that  he,  in  plain  English,  drank? 
Poor  dear  Charles — if  he  knew  it,  what  an  additional 
worry!  It  really  was  too  deplorable. — Anyway  she  could 
alleviate  his  worries  to  a  certain  extent  by  carrying 
Theresa  off.  She  would  do  so  at  once. — Was  there  an 
evening  train  from  Stourmouth,  which  stopped  at  Paulton 
Halt?  Well — if  there  wasn't  she  must  get  out  at  Mary- 
church,  and  drive  from  there.  She  only  trusted  she  would 
be  in  time  to  dress  for  dinner.  Harriet  was  such  a  stickler 
for  etiquette. 

From  all  which  it  may  be  deduced  that  the  confessions, 
made  to  Miss  Verity  to-day,  had  this  in  common  with  those 
habitually  heard  by  her — that  the  point  of  the  story  had 
been  rather  carefully  left  out. 


CHAPTER  XI 

IN    WHICH    DAMARIS    RECEIVES    INFORMATION    OP    THE    LOST 
SHOES  AND  STOCKINGS — ASSUMPTION  OP  THE  GODHEAD 

A3  Darcy  Fairclotb  prophesied,  the  wild  weather  lasted 
throughout  that  week.  Then,  the  rain  having  rained 
itself  out,  the  wind  backed  and  the  skies  cleared. 
But  all  to  a  different  mode  and  rhythm.  A  cold  white 
sun  shone  out  of  a  cold  blue  sky,  diapered,  to  the  north 
above  the  indigo  and  umber  moorland  and  forest,  with 
perspectives  of  tenuous  silken-white  cloud.  Land  and  sky 
were  alike  washed  clean,  to  a  starkness  and  nakedness 
calling  for  warm  clothing  out  of  doors,  and  well-stoked 
fires  within. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  next  week,  invited  by  that  thin 
glinting  sunshine — beneath  which  the  sea  still  ran  high,  in 
long,  hollow-backed  waves,  brokenly  foam-capped  and 
swirling — Damaris  came  forth  from  her  retreat,  sufficiently 
convalescent  to  take  up  the  ordinary  routine  of  life  again. 
But  this,  also,  to  a  changed  mode  and  rhythm,  having  its 
source  in  causes  more  recondite  and  subtle  than  any 
matter  of  fair  or  foul  weather. 

To  begin  with  she  had,  in  the  past  week,  crossed  a  cer- 
tain bridge  there  is  no  going  back  over  for  whoso,  of  her 
sex,  is  handicapped  or  favoured — in  mid-nineteenth  century 
the  handicap  rather  than  the  favour  counted  even  more 
heavily  than,  it  does  to-day,  though  even  to-day,  as  some 
of  us  know  to  our  cost,  it  still  counts  not  a  little! — by 
possession  of  rarer  intelligence,  more  lively  moral  and 
spiritual  perceptions,  than  those  possessed  by  the  great 
average  of  her  countrymen  or  countrywomen.  Damaris' 
crossing  of  that  bridge — to  carry  on  the  figure — af- 
fected her  thought  of,  and  relation  to  everyone  and 
everything  with  which  she  now  came  in  contact.  She 

175 


176  DEADHAM  HARD 

had  crossed  other  bridges  on  her  eighteen  years'  journey 
from  infancy  upwards;  but,  compared  with  this  last,  they 
had  been  but  airy  fantastic  structures,  fashioned  of  hardly 
more  substantial  stuff  than  dreams  are  made  of. — Thus, 
anyhow,  it  appeared  to  her  as  she  lay  resting  in  her  pink- 
and-white  curtained  bed,  watching  the  loose  rose-sprays 
tremble  against  the  rain-spattered  window-panes. — For 
this  last  bridge  was  built  of  the  living  stones  of  fact,  of 
deeds  actually  done;  and,  just  because  it  was  so  built, 
for  one  of  her  perceptions  and  temperament,  no  recross- 
ing  of  it  could  be  possible. 

So  much  to  begin  with. — To  go  on  with,  even  before  Dr. 
McCabe  granted  her  permission  to  emerge  from  retire- 
ment, all  manner  of  practical  matters  claimed  her  atten- 
tion; and  that  not  unwholesomely,  as  it  proved  in  the 
sequel.  For  with  the  incontinent  vanishing  of  Theresa 
Bilson  into  space,  or, — more  accurately — into  the  very 
comfortable  lodgings  provided  for  her  by  Miss  Verity  in 
Stourmouth,  the  mantle  of  the  ex-governess-companion's 
domestic  responsibilities  automatically  descended  upon 
her  ex-pupil.  The  said  vanishing  was  reported  to  Damaris 
by  Mary,  on  the  day  subsequent  to  its  occurrence,  not 
without  signs  of  hardly  repressed  jubilation.  For 
"  Egypt,"  in  this  case  represented  by  the  Deadham 
Hard  servants'  hall,  was  unfeignedly  "  glad  at  her  depart- 
ing." 

"  A  good  riddance,  I  call  it — and  we  all  know  the  rest 
of  that  saying,"  Mrs.  Cooper  remarked  to  an  audience  of 
Hordle  and  Mary  Fisher,  reinforced  by  the  Napoleonic 
Patch  and  his  wife — who  happened  to  have  looked  in  from 
the  stables  after  supper — some  freedom  of  speech  being 
permissible,  thanks  to  the  under-servants '  relegation  to  the 
kitchen. 

"  I  never  could  see  she  was  any  class  myself.  But  the 
airs  and  graces  she'd  give  herself!  You'll  never  persuade 
me  she  wasn't  sweet  on  the  master.  That  was  at  the  back 
of  all  her  dressings  up,  and  flouncings  and  fidgetings.  The 
impidence  of  it! — You  may  well  say  so,  Mrs.  Patch.  But 
the  conceit  of  some  people  passes  understanding.  To  be 


THE  HARD  SCHOOL  OF  THINGS          177 

Lady  Verity,  if  you  please,  that  was  what  she  was  after. 
To  my  dying  day  I  shall  believe  it.  Don't  tell  me!  " 

Mary's  announcement  of  the  event  was  couched  in  sober 
terms,  shorn  of  such  fine  flowers  of  suggestion  and  com- 
ment. Yet  it  breathed  an  unmistakable  satisfaction,  which, 
to  Damaris'  contrition,  found  instant  echo  in  her  own 
heart.  She  ought,  she  knew,  to  feel  distressed  at  poor 
Theresa's  vanishing — only  she  didn't  and  couldn't.  As 
an  inherent  consequence  of  the  afore-chronicled  bridge- 
crossing,  Theresa  was  more  than  ever  out  of  the  picture. 
To  listen  to  her  chatterings,  to  evade  her  questionings 
would,  under  existing  circumstances,  amount  to  a  daily 
trial  from  which  the  young  girl  felt  thankful  to  escape. 
For  Damaris  entertained  a  conviction  the  circumstances 
in  question  would  call  for  fortitude  and  resource  of  an 
order  unknown,  alike  in  their  sternness  and  their  liberality 
of  idea,  to  Theresa's  narrowly  High  Anglican  and  academic 
standards  of  thought  and  conduct.  She  therefore  ascer- 
tained from  her  informant  that  Miss  Verity  had  been  as 
actively  instrumental  in  the  vanishing — had,  to  be  explicit, 
taken  "  Miss  Bilson,  and  all  her  luggage  (such  a  collec- 
tion!) except  two  disgraceful  old  tin  boxes  which  were 
to  be  forwarded  by  the  carrier,  away  with  her  in  her  own 
Marychurch  fly." — And  at  this  Damaris  left  the  business 
willingly  enough,  secure  that  if  tender-hearted  Aunt 
Felicia  was  party  to  the  removal,  it  would  very  surely  be 
effected  with  due  regard  to  appearances  and  as  slight 
damage  to  "  feelings  "  as  could  well  be. 

Later  Sir  Charles  referred  briefly  to  the  subject,  adding : 

"  When  you  require  another  lady-in-waiting  we  will 
choose  her  ourselves,  I  think,  rather  than  accept  a  nominee 
of  my  sister  Felicia's.  She  is  certain  to  have  some  more 
or  less  unsuitable  and  incapable  person  on  hand,  upon 
whom  she  ardently  desires  to  confer  benefits." 

"  But  must  I  have  another  lady-in-waiting?  "  Damaris 
meaningly  and  pleadingly  asked. 

Charles  Verity  drew  his  hand  down  slowly  over  his  flow- 
ing moustache,  and  smiled  at  her  in  tender  amusement, 
as  she  sat  up  in  a  much  lace  and  ribbon  befrilled  jacket, 


178  DEADHAM  HARD 

her  hair  hanging  down  in  a  heavy  plait  on  either  side  the 
white  column  of  her  warmly  white  throat.  Her  face  was 
refined  to  a  transparency  of  colouring,  even  as  it  seemed  of 
texture,  from  confinement  to  the  house  and  from  lassitude 
following  upon  fever,  which,  while  he  recognized  its  loveli- 
ness, caused  him  a  pretty  sharp  pang.  Still  she  looked 
content,  as  he  told  himself.  Her  glance  was  frank  and 
calm,  without  suggestion  of  lurking  anxiety. 

Nor  was  she  unoccupied  and  brooding — witness  the 
counterpane  strewn  with  books,  with  balls  of  wool,  a  sock 
in  leisurely  process  of  knitting,  and,  in  a  hollow  of  it, 
Mustapha,  the  brindled  cat,  luxuriously  sleeping  curled 
round  against  her  feet. 

"  Heaven  knows  I've  no  special  craving  your  lady-in- 
waiting  should  find  a  speedy  successor,"  he  said.  "  But 
to  do  without  one  altogether  might  appear  a  rather  daring 
experiment.  Your  aunts  would  be  loud  in  protest." 

"  What  matters  isn't  the  aunts,  is  it,  but  ourselves?  " 
Damaris  quite  gaily  took  him  up. 

"  But  wouldn't  you  be  lonely,  my  dear,  and  would  you 
not  find  it  burdensome  to  run  the  house  yourself?  " 

"  No — no,"  she  cried.  "  Not  one  bit.  Anyway  let  me 
try,  Commissioner  Sahib.  Let  us  be  by  ourselves  together 
— beautifully  by  ourselves,  for  a  time  at  least." 

"  So  be  it  then,"  Charles  Verity  said. 

And  perhaps,  although  hardly  acknowledged,  in  the 
mind  of  each  the  same  consideration  operated.  For  there 
remained  a  thing  still  to  be  done  before  the  new  order 
could  be  reckoned  as  fully  initiated,  still  more  fully  estab- 
lished,— a  thing  which,  as  each  knew,  could  be  best  done 
without  witnesses;  a  thing  which  both  intended  should 
very  surely  be  done,  yet  concerning  which  neither  pro- 
posed to  speak  until  the  hour  of  accomplishment  actually 
struck. 

That  hour,  in  point  of  fact,  struck  sooner  than  Damaris 
anticipated,  the  sound  and  sight  of  it  reaching  her  with- 
out prelude  or  opportunity  of  preparation.  For  early  in  the 
afternoon  of  the  second  day  she  spent  downstairs,  as,  sit- 
ting at  the  writing  table  in  the  long  drawing-room,  she 


THE  HARD  SCHOOL  OF  THINGS          179 

raised  her  eyes  from  contemplation  of  the  house-keeping 
books  spread  out  before  her,  she  saw  her  father  walking 
slowly  up  from  the  sea-wall  across  the  lawn.  And  seeing 
him,  for  the  moment,  her  mind  carried  back  to  that  miracle 
of  interchangeable  personalities  so  distressingly  haunting 
her  at  the  beginning  of  her  illness,  when  James  Colthurst's 
charcoal  sketch  of  her  father  played  cruel  juggler's  tricks 
upon  her.  For  beside  him  now  walked  a  man  so  strangely 
resembling  him  in  height,  in  bearing  and  in  build  that,  but 
for  the  difference  of  clothing  and  the  bearded  face,  it 
might  be  himself  had  the  clock  of  his  life  been  set  back 
by  thirty  years. 

Damaris'  first  instinct  was  of  flight.  Just  as  when,  out 
on  the  Bar  with  her  cousin,  Tom  Verity,  now  nearly  a 
month  ago,  overcome  by  a  foreboding  of  far-reaching 
danger  she  had — to  the  subsequent  bitter  wounding  of  her 
self-respect  and  pride — shown  the  white  feather,  ignomini- 
ously  turned  tail  and  run  away,  was  she  tempted  to  run 
away  now. 

For  it  seemed  too  much.  It  came  too  close,  laying  rough 
hands  not  only  upon  the  deepest  of  her  love  and  reverence 
for  her  father,  but  upon  that  still  mysterious  depth  of  her 
own  nature,  namely  her  apprehension  of  passion  and  of 
sex.  A  sacred  shame,  an  awe  as  at  the  commission  of 
some  covert  act  of  impiety,  overcame  her  as  she  looked 
at  the  two  men  walking,  side  by  side,  across  the  moist 
vividly  green  carpet  of  turf  in  the  chill  white  sunshine, 
the  plain  of  an  uneasy  grey  sea  behind  them.  She  wanted 
to  hide  herself,  to  close  eyes  and  ears  against  further 
knowledge.  Yes — it  came  too  close;  and  at  the  same 
time  made  her  feel,  as  never  before,  isolated  and  desolate 
— as  though  a  great  gulf  yawned  between  her  and  what 
she  had  always  counted  pre-eminently  her  own,  most  se- 
curely her  property  because  most  beloved. 

She  had  spoken  valiantly  on  Faircloth's  behalf,  had 
generously  acted  as  his  advocate;  yet  now,  beholding  him 
thus  in  open  converse  with  her  father,  the  wings  of  love 
were  scorched  by  the  flame  of  jealousy — not  so  much  of 
the  young  man  himself,  as  of  a  past  which  he  stood  for 


180  DEADHAM  HARD 

and  in  which  she  had  no  part.  Therefore  to  run — yes, 
run  and  hide  from  further  knowledge,  further  experience 
and  revelation,  to  claim  the  privileges,  since  she  was  called 
on  to  endure  the  smart,  of  isolation. — Yet  to  run,  as  she 
almost  directly  began  to  reason,  was  not  only  cowardly 
but  useless.  Fact  remains  fact,  and  if  she  refused  to  ac- 
cept it,  range  herself  in  line  with  it  to-day,  she  in  nowise 
negatived  but  merely  postponed  the  event.  If  not  to-day, 
then  to-morrow  she  was  bound  to  empty  the  cup.  And 
she  laughed  at  the  specious  half-truth  which  had  appeared 
so  splendid  and  exhilarating  a  discovery — the  half-truth 
that  nothing  is  really  inevitable  unless  you  yolirself  will 
it  to  be  so.  For  this  was  inevitable,  sooner  or  later  un- 
escapable,  fight  against  it,  fly  from  it  as  she  might. 

Therefore  she  must  stay,  whether  she  liked  it  or  not — 
stay,  because  to  do  otherwise  was  purposeless,  because  she 
couldn't  help  herself,  because  there  was  nowhere  to  run 
to,  in  short < 

She  heard  footsteps  upon  the  flags  outside  the  garden 
door,  speech,  calm  and  restrained,  of  which  she  could 
not  distinguish  the  import.  Mechanically  Damaris  gathered 
the  scattered  house-keeping  books  lying  before  her  upon 
the  table — baker's,  butcher's,  grocer's,  corn-chandler's, 
coal-merchant's — into  a  tight  little  heap;  and,  folding  her 
hands  on  the  top  of  them,  prayed  simply,  almost  word- 
lessly, for  courage  to  hold  the  balance  even,  to  seek  not  her 
own  good  but  the  good  of  those  two  others,  to  do  right. 
Then  she  waited. 

The  door  opened,  closed,  and,  after  a  minute 's  pause,  one 
of  the  two  men — Damaris  did  not  know  which,  she  could 
not  bring  herself  to  look — coming  from  between  the 
stumpy  pillars  walked  towards  her  down  the  half-length 
of  the  room;  and  bent  over  her,  resting  one  hand  on  the 
back  of  her  chair,  the  other  on  the  leather  inlay  of  the 
writing-table  just  beside  the  little  pile  of  house-books. 

The  hand  was  young,  sunburnt,  well-shaped,  the  finger 
nails  well  kept.  Across  the  back  of  it  a  small-bodied,  wide- 
winged  sea-bird,  in  apparent  act  of  flight,  and  the  letters 
D.V.F.  were  tattooed  in  blue  and  crimson.  A  gold  bangle, 


THE  HARD  SCHOOL  OF  THINGS          181 

the  surface  of  it  dented  in  places  and  engraved  with 
Japanese  characters,  encircled  the  fine  lean  wrist.  These 
Damaris  saw,  and  they  worked  upon  her  strangely,  awaken- 
ing an  emotion  of  almost  painful  tenderness,  as  at  sight 
of  decorations  pathetically  fond,  playfully  child-like  and 
ingenuous.  While,  as  he  bent  over  her,  she  also  became 
aware  of  a  freshness,  a  salt  sweetness  as  of  the  ocean 
and  the  great  vacant  spaces  where  all  the  winds  of  the 
world  blow  keen  and  free. 

"  Sir  Charles  wrote  to  me,"  Faircloth  said  a  little 
huskily.  "  He  told  me  I  might  come  and  see  you  again 
and  talk  to  you,  and  bid  you  good-bye  before  I  go  to  sea. 
And  I  should  have  been  here  sooner,  but  that  I  was  away 
at  Southampton  Docks,  and  the  letter  only  reached  me  this 
morning.  I  telegraphed  and  started  on  at  once.  And 
he — Sir  Charles — walked  out  over  the  warren  to  meet  me, 
and  brought  me  up  here  right  to  the  door.  And  on  the 
way  we  talked  a  little, — if  he  chose  he  could  make  the 
very  stones  speak,  I  think — and  he  said  one  or  two  things 
for  which — I — well — I  thank  first  Almighty  God,  and  next 
to  God,  you — Damaris  " 

This  last  imperatively. 

"  You  did  ask  for  me?  You  did  wish  to  have  me  come 
to  you?  " 

' '  Yes,  I  did  wish  it, ' '  she  answered.  ' '  But  I  never  knew 
how  much  until  now,  when  he  has  brought  you.  For  that 
is  the  right,  the  beautiful,  safe  way  of  having  you  come 
to  me  and  to  this  house." 

Yet,  as  she  spoke,  she  lightly  laid  her  hand  over  the 
tattooed  image  of  the  flying  sea-bird,  concealing  it,  for  it 
moved  her  to  the  point  of  active  suffering  in  its  quaint 
prettiness  fixed  thus  indelibly  up  in  the  warm  live  flesh. 

At  the  touch  of  her  hand  Faircloth  drew  in  his  breath 
sharply,  seeming  to  wince.  Then,  at  last,  Damaris  looked 
up  at  him,  her  eyes  full  of  questioning  and  startled  con- 
cern. 

"  I  didn't  hurt  you?  "  she  asked,  a  vague  idea  of  suf- 
fering, attached  to  that  fanciful  stigmata,  troubling  her. 

"  Hart  me — good  Lord,  how  could  you,  of  all  people, 


182  DEADHAM  HARD 

hurt  me?  "he  gently  laughed  at  her.  "  Unless  you  turned 
me  down,  gave  me  to  understand  that,  on  second  thoughts, 
you  didn't  find  me  up  to  your  requirements  or  some  mean 
class  devilry  of  that  kind — of  which,  by  the  way,  had  I 
judged  you  capable,  you  may  be  sure  I  should  have  been 
uncommonly  careful  never  to  come  near  you  again. — No, 
it  isn't  that  you  hurt  me;  but  that  you  delight  me  a  little 
overmuch,  so  that  it  isn't  easy  to  keep  quite  level-headed. 
There's  so  much  to  hear  and  to  tell,  and  such  scanty  time 
to  hear  or  tell  it  in,  worse  luck." 

"  You  are  obliged  to  go  so  soon?  " 

The  flames  of  jealousy  had  effectually,  it  may  be  noted, 
died  down  in  Damaris. 

"  Yes — we're  taking  on  cargo  for  all  we're  worth. 
We  are  booked  to  sail  by  noon  the  day  after  to-morrow. 
I  stretched  a  point  in  leaving  at  all,  which  won't  put  me 
in  the  best  odour  with  my  officers  and  crew,  or — supposing 
they  come  to  hear  of  it — with  my  owners  either.  I  am 
giving  my  plain  duty  the  slip ;  but,  in  this  singular  case,  it 
seemed  to  me,  a  greater  duty  stood  back  of  and  outweighed 
the  plain  obvious  one — since  it  mounted  to  a  reconstruc- 
tion, a  peace-making,  ridding  the  souls  of  four  persons 
of  an  ugly  burden.  I  wanted  the  affair  all  settled  up  and 
straightened  out  before  this,  my  maiden  voyage,  in  com- 
mand of  a  ship  of  my  own.  For  me  it  is  a  great  event, 
a  great  step  forward.  And,  perhaps  I'm  over-supersti- 
tious— most  men  of  my  trade  are  supposed  to  be  touched 
that  way — but  I  admit  I  rather  cling  to  the  notion  of  this 
private  peace-making,  this  straightening  out  of  an  ancient 
crookedness,  as  a  thing  of  good  augury,  a  favourable 
omen.  As  such — let  alone  other  reasons  " — and  he  looked 
down  at  Damaris  with  a  fine  and  delicate  admiration — 
"  I  desired  it  and,  out  of  my  heart,  I  prize  it. — Do  you 
see?" 

"  Yes — indeed  a  thing  of  good  augury  " — she  affirmed. 

Yet  in  speaking  her  lips  shook.  For,  in  truth,  poor  child, 
she  was  hard-pressed.  This  intimate  intercourse,  alike  in 
its  simple  directness  and  its  novelty,  began  to  wear  on  her 
to  the  point  of  physical  distress.  She  felt  tremulous  and 


THE  HARD  SCHOOL  OF  THINGS          183 

faint.  Not  that  Faircloth  jarred  upon  or  was  distaste- 
ful to  her.  Far  from  that.  His  youth  and  health,  the  un- 
spoiled vigour  and  force  of  him,  captivated  her  imagina- 
tion. Even  the  dash  of  roughness,  the  lapses  from  con- 
ventional forms  of  speech  and  manner  she  now  and  again 
observed  in  him,  caught  her  fancy,  heightening  his  at- 
traction for  her.  Nor  was  she  any  longer  tormented  by  a 
sense  of  isolation.  For,  as  she  recognized,  he  stole  nothing 
away  which  heretofore  belonged  to  her.  Rather  did  he 
add  his  own  by  no  means  inconsiderable  self  to  the  sum 
of  her  possessions. — And  in  that  last  fact  she  probably 
touched  the  real  crux,  the  real  strain,  of  the  present,  to 
her  disintegrating,  situation.  For  in  him,  and  in  his  re- 
lation to  her,  a  wonderful  and  very  precious  gift  was  be- 
stowed upon  her,  namely  another  human  life  to  love  and 
live  for. — Bestowed  on  her,  moreover,  without  asking  or 
choice  of  her  own,  arbitrarily,  through  the  claim  of  his 
and  her  common  ancestry  and  the  profound  moral  and 
spiritual  obligations,  the  mysterious  affinities,  which  a  com- 
mon ancestry  creates. 

Had  she  possessed  this  gift  from  childhood,  had  it  taken 
its  natural  place  in  her  experience  through  the  linked 
and  orderly  progress  of  the  years,  it  would  have  been 
wholly  welcome,  wholly  profitable  and  sweet.  But  it  was 
sprung  upon  her  from  the  outside,  quite  astoundingly 
ready-made.  It  bore  down  on  her,  and  at  a  double,  foot, 
horse,  and  siege  guns  complete.  Small  discredit  to  her 
if  she  staggered  under  its  onset,  trembled  and  turned 
faint!  For  as  she  now  perceived,  it  was  exactly  this  re- 
lation of  brother  and  sister  of  which  she  had  some  pre- 
science, some  dim  intuition,  from  her  first  sight  of  Fair- 
cloth  as  he  stood  among  the  skeleton  lobster-pots  on  board 
Timothy  Proud 's  old  boat.  It  was  this  call  of  a  common 
blood  which  begot  in  her  unreasoning  panic,  which  she 
had  run  from  and  so  wildly  tried  to  escape.  And  yet  it 
remained  a  gift  of  great  price,  a  crown  of  gold;  but  oh! 
so  very  heavy — just  at  this  moment  anyhow — for  her  poor 
proud  young  head. 

Lifting  her  hand  off  Faircloth 's,  she  made  a  motion  to 


184.  DEADHAM  HARD 

rise.  Change  of  attitude  and  place  might  bring  her  relief, 
serve  to  steady  her  nerves  and  restore  her  endangered 
composure!  Brooding  over  the  whole  singular  matter  in 
the  peace  and  security  of  her  room  upstairs,  her  course 
had  appeared  a  comparatively  easy  one,  granted  reasonable 
courage  and  address.  But  the  young  man's  bodily 
presence,  as  now  close  beside  her,  exercised  an  emotional 
influence  quite  unforeseen  and  unreckoned  with.  Under  it 
her  will  wavered.  She  ceased  to  see  her  way  clearly,  to 
be  sure  of  herself.  She  grew  timid,  bewildered,  unready 
both  of  purpose  and  of  speech. 

Faircloth,  meanwhile,  being  closely  observant  of  her, 
was  quick  to  detect  her  agitation.  He  drew  aside  her 
chair,  and  backed  away,  leaving  her  free  to  pass. 

"  I  am  afraid  we  have  talked  too  long,"  he  said. 
' '  You  're  tired.  I  ought  to  have  been  more  careful  of  you, 
remembered  how  ill  you  have  been — and  that  partly 
through  my  doing  too.  So  now,  I  had  better  bid  you  good- 
bye, I  think,  and  leave  you  to  rest." 

But  Damaris,  contriving  to  smile  tremulous  lips  not- 
withstanding, shook  her  head.  For,  in  lifting  her  hand 
from  his,  she  caught  sight  of  the  tattooed  blue-and-crimson 
sea-bird  and  the  initials  below  it.  And  again  her  heart 
contracted  with  a  spasm  of  tenderness;  while  those  three 
letters,  more  fully  arresting  her  attention,  aroused  in  her 
a  fascinated,  half-shrinking  curiosity.  What  did  they 
mean?  What  could  they  stand  for?  She  longed  intensely 
to  know — sure  they  were  in  some  sort  a  symbol,  a  token, 
not  without  special  significance  for  herself.  But  shyness 
and  a  quaint  disposition,  dating  from  her  childhood,  to 
pause  and  hover  on  the  threshold  of  discovery,  thus  pro- 
longing a  period  of  entrancing,  distracting  suspense,  with- 
held her.  She  dared  not  ask — in  any  case  dared  not  ask 
just  yet;. and  therefore  took  up  his  words  in  their  literal 
application. 

"  Indeed,  you  haven't  talked  too  long,"  she  assured 
him,  as  she  went  over  to  the  tiger  skin  before  the  fire- 
place, and  standing  there  looked  down  into  the  core  of 
the  burning  logs.  "  We  have  only  just  begun  to  talk,  so 


THE  HARD  SCHOOL  OF  THINGS          185 

it  isn't  that  which  has  tried  me.  But — if  you  won't  mis- 
understand— pray  don't — the  thought  of — of  you,  and  of 
all  that  which  lies  between  us,  is  still  very  new  to  me.  I 
haven't  quite  found  you,  or  myself  in  my  relation  to  you, 
yet.  Give  me  time,  and  indeed,  I  won't  disappoint  you." 

Faircloth,  who  had  followed  her,  put  his  elbows  on  the 
mantelshelf,  and  sinking  his  head  somewhat  between  his 
shoulders,  stared  down  at  the  burning  logs  too. 

"Ah!  when  you  take  that  tone,  I'm  a  little  scared  lest 
I  should  turn  out  to  be  the  disappointment,  the  failure,  in 
this  high  adventure  of  ours,"  he  said  under  his  breath. 

"  So  stay,  please,"  the  young  girl  went  on,  touched  by, 
yet  ignoring,  his  interjected  comment.  "  Let  me  get  as 
accustomed  as  I  can  now,  so  that  I  may  feel  settled.  That 
is  the  way  to  prevent  my  being  tired — the  way  to  rest  me, 
because  it  will  help  to  get  all  my  thinkings  about  you  into 
place. — Yes,  please  stay. — That  is,"  she  added  with  a 
pretty  touch  of  ceremony — "  if  you  have  time,  and  don't 
yourself  wish  to  go." 

"  I  wish  it!  What,  in  heaven's  name,  could  well  be 
further  from  any  wish  of  mine?  "  Faircloth  broke  out 
almost  roughly,  without  raising  his  eyes.  "  Do  you  sup- 
pose when  a  man's  gone  thirsty  many  days,  he  is  in  haste 
to  forego  the  first  draught  of  pure  water  offered  to  him 
— and  that  after  just  putting  his  lips  to  the  dear  comfort 
of  it?  >: 

"  Ah!  you  care  too  much,"  Damaris  cried,  smitten  by 
swift  shrinking  and  dread. 

Faircloth  lifted  his  head  and  looked  at  her,  his  face 
keen,  brilliant  with  a  far  from  ignoble  emotion. 

"  It  is  not,  and  never  will  be  possible — so  I  fancy  " — 
he  said,  "  to  care  too  much  about  you." 

And  he  fell  into  contemplation  of  the  glowing  logs  again. 

But  Damaris,  seeing  his  transfigured  countenance,  hear- 
ing his  rejoinder,  penetrated,  moreover,  by  the  conviction 
of  his  entire  sincerity,  felt  the  weight  of  a  certain  golden 
| crown  more  than  ever  heavy  upon  her  devoted  young  head. 
\She  stepped  aside,  groping  with  outstretched  hands  be- 
ihind  her  until  she  found  and  held  on  to  the  arm.  of  the  big 


186  DEADHAM  HARD 

sofa  stationed  at  right  angles  to  the  hearth.  And  she 
waited,  morally  taking  breath,  to  slip  presently  on  to  the 
wide  low  seat  of  it  and  lean  thankfully  against  its  solidly 
cushioned  back  for  support. 

"  Neither  for  you,  or  for  my  ship  " — Faircloth  went 
on,  speaking,  as  it  seemed,  more  to  himself  than  to  his  now 
pale  companion.  "  I  dare  couple  you  and  her  together, 
though  she  is  no  longer  in  the  dew  of  her  youth.  Oh! 
I  can't  defend  her  looks,  poor  dear.  She  has  seen  service. 
Is  only  a  battered,  travel-weary  old  couple-of-thousand- 
ton  cargo  boat,  which  has  hugged  and  nuzzled  the  foul- 
smelling  quays  of  half  the  seaports  of  southern  Europe 
and  Asia.  All  the  same — next  to  you — she's  the  best  and 
finest  thing  life,  up  to  now,  has  brought  me,  and  I  love 
her. — My  affection  for  her,  though,"  he  went  on,  "  is  safe 
to  be  transitory.  She  is  safe  to  have  rivals  and  successors 
in  plenty — unless,  of  course,  by  some  ugly  turn  of  luck, 
she  and  I  go  to  the  bottom  in  company." 

Faircloth  broke  off.  A  little  sound,  a  little  gesture 
of  protest  and  distress,  making  him  straighten  himself  up 
and  turn  quickly,  his  eyes  alight  with  enquiry  and 
laughter. 

"  May  I  take  that  to  mean  I'm  not  quite  alone  in  my 
caring,"  he  asked;  "  but  that  you,  Damaris,  care,  perhaps, 
just  a  trifling  amount  too?  " 

He  went  across  to  the  sofa,  sat  down  sideways,  laying  his 
right  arm  along  the  back  of  it,  and  placing  his  left  hand 
— inscribed  with  the  fanciful  device — over  the  girl's  two 
hands  clasped  in  her  lap.  The  strong,  lean  fingers  ex- 
ercised a  quiet,  steady  pressure,  for  a  minute.  After  which 
he  leaned  back,  no  longer  attempting  to  touch  her,  studi- 
ously indeed  keeping  his  distance,  while  he  said : 

"  TLe  other  affection  is  stable  for  ever — safe  from  all 
rivals  or  successors.  That  is  another  reason  why  I  jumped 
at  the  chance  Sir  Charles's  letter  gave  me  of  coming  here 
to-day,  and  seeing  you,  with  this  room — as  I  hoped — in 
which  so  much  of  your  time  must  be  spent,  for  back- 
ground. I  wanted  to  stamp  a  picture  of  you  upon  my 
memory,  burn  it  right  into  the  very  tissue  of  my  brain, 


THE  HARD  SCHOOL  OF  THINGS          187 

so  that  I  shall  always  have  it  with  me,  wherever  I  go,  and 
however  rarely  we  meet. — Because,  as  I  see  it,  we  shall 
rarely  meet.  We  ought  to  be  clear  on  that  point — leave 
no  frayed  edges.  There  is  a  bar  between  us,  which  for 
the  sake  of  others,  as  well  as  for  your  sake,  it  is  only  right 
and  decent  I  should  respect,  a  wall  of  partition  through 
which  I  shouldn't  attempt  to  break." 

"  I  know — but  it  troubles  me/'  Damaris  murmured. 
"  It  is  sad." 

"  Yes,  of  course,  it  is  sad.  But  it's  just  the  penalty  that 
is  bound  to  be  paid,  and  which  it  is  useless  to  ignore  or 
lie  to  ourselves  about. — So  I  shall  never  come,  unless  he — 
Sir  Charles — sends  for  me  as  he  did  to-day,  or  unless  you 
send.  Only  remember  your  picture  will  never  leave  me. 
I  have  it  safe  and  sound  " — Faircloth  smiled  at  her. — 
"  It  will  be  with  me  just  as  actually  and  ineffaceably  as 
this  is  with  me." 

He  patted  the  back  of  his  left  hand. 

"  Nothing,  short  of  death,  can  rub  either  out.  I  have 
pretty  thoroughly  banked  against  that,  you  see.  So  you've 
only  to  send  when,  and  if,  you  want  me.  I  shall  turn  up 
— oh!  never  fear,  I  shall  turn  up." 

"  And  I  shall  send — we  shall  both  send,"  Damaris 
answered  gravely,  even  a  little  brokenly. 

The  crown  might  be  heavy ;  but  she  had  strangely  ceased 
to  desire  to  be  rid  of  it,  beginning,  indeed,  to  find  its 
weight  oddly  satisfying,  even,  it  may  be  asserted,  trench- 
ing on  the  exquisite.  And,  with  this  altered  attitude,  a 
freedom  of  spirit,  greater  than  she  had  enjoyed  since  the 
commencement  of  the  whole  astonishing  episode,  since  be- 
fore her  cousin  Tom  Verity's  visit  in  fact,  came  upon  her. 
It  lightened  her  heart.  It  dispelled  her  fatigue — which 
throughout  the  afternoon  had  been,  probably, 'more  of  the 
moral  than  bodily  sort.  Her  soul  no  longer  beat  its  wings 
against  iron  bars,  fluttered  in  the  meshes  of  a  net;  but 
looked  forth  shy  yet  serene,  accepting  the  position  in  which 
it  found  itself.  For  Faircloth  inspired  her  with  deepen- 
ing faith.  He  needed  no  guiding,  as  she  told  herself;  but 
was  strong  enough,  as  his  words  convincingly  testified, 


188  DEADHAM  HARD 

clear-sighted  and  quick-witted  enough,  to  play  his  part  in 
the  complicated  drama  without  prompting.  Hadn't  he 
done  just  what  she  asked? — Stayed  until,  by  operation 
of  some  quality  in  himself  or — could  it  be? — simply 
through  the  mysterious  draw  of  his  and  her  brother  and 
sisterhood,  she  had  already  grown  accustomed,  settled  in 
her  thought  of  him,  untormented  by  the  closeness  of  his 
presence  and  unabashed. 

And  having  reached  this  vantage-point,  discovering  the 
weight  of  the  crown  dear  now  rather  than  irksome,  Damaris 
permitted  herself  a  closer  observation  of  her  companion 
than  ever  before.  Impressions  of  his  appearance  she  had 
received  in  plenty — but  received  them  in  flashes,  con- 
fusing from  their  very  vividness.  Confusing,  also,  because 
each  one  of  them  was  doubled  by  a  haunting  consciousness 
of  his  likeness  to  her  father.  The  traits  common  to  both 
men,  rather  than  those  individually  characteristic  of  the 
younger,  had  been  in  evidence.  And,  in  her  present  hap- 
pier mood,  Damaris  also  desired  a  picture  to  set  in  the 
storehouse  of  memory.  But  it  must  represent  this  brother 
of  hers  in  and  by  himself,  divorced,  as  far  as  might  be, 
from  that  pursuing,  and,  to  her,  singularly  agitating  like- 
ness. 

Her  design  and  her  scrutiny  were  easier  of  prosecution 
that,  during  the  last  few  minutes,  Faircloth  had  retired 
into  silence,  and  an  attitude  of  abstraction.  Sitting  rather 
forward  upon  the  sofa,  his  legs  crossed,  nursing  one  blue 
serge  trousered  knee  with  locked  hands,  his  glance  travelled 
thoughtfully  over  the  quiet,  low-toned  room  and  its  varied 
contents.  Later,  sought  the  window  opposite,  and  ranged 
across  the  garden  and  terrace  walk,  with  its  incident  of 
small  ancient  cannon,  to  the  long  ridge  of  the  Bar — rising, 
bleached,  wind-swept,  and  notably  deserted  under  the 
colourless  sunshine,  beyond  the  dark  waters  of  the  tide 
river  which  raced  tumultuously  seaward  in  flood. 

Seen  thus  in  repose — and  repose  is  a  terrible  tell-tale 
— the  lines  of  the  young  man's  face  and  figure  remained 
firm,  gracefully  angular  and  definite.  No  hint  of  slack- 
ness or  sloppiness  marred  their  effect.  The  same  might 


THE  HARD  SCHOOL  OF  THINGS          189 

be  said  of  his  clothes,  which  though  of  ordinary  regula- 
tion colour  and  cut — plus  neat  black  tie  and  stiff-fronted 
white  shirt,  collar,  and  wristbands — possessed  style,  and 
that  farthest  from  the  cheap  or  flashy.  Only  the  gold 
bangle  challenged  Damaris'  taste  as  touching  on  florid; 
but  its  existence  she  condoned  in  face  of  its  wearer's 
hazardous  and  inherently  romantic  calling.  For  the  sailor 
may,  surely,  be  here  and  there  permitted  a  turn  and  a 
flourish,  justly  denied  to  the  safe  entrenched  landsman. 

If  outward  aspects  were  thus  calculated  to  engage  her 
approval  and  agreeably  fill  in  her  projected  picture,  that 
which  glimmered  through  them — divined  by  her  rather 
than  stated,  all  being  necessarily  more  an  affair  of  intui- 
tion than  of  knowledge — gave  her  pleasure  of  richer 
quality.  High-tempered  she  unquestionably  read  him,  ar- 
rogant and  on  occasion  not  inconceivably  remorseless;  but 
neither  mean  nor  ungenerous,  his  energy  unwasted,  his 
mind  untainted  by  self-indulgence.  If  he  were  capable 
of  cruelty  to  others,  he  was  at  least  equally  capable  of 
turning  the  knife  on  himself,  cutting  off  or  plucking  out 
an  offending  member.  This  appealed  to  the  heroic  in  her. 
While  over  her  vision,  as  she  thus  considered  him,  hung 
the  glamour  of  youth  which,  to  youth,  displays  such 
royal  enchantments — untrodden  fields  of  hope  and  promise 
inviting  the  tread  of  eager  feet,  the  rush  of  glorious  goings 
forward  towards  conquests,  towards  wonders,  well  assured, 
yet  to  be.  The  personality  of  this  man  clearly  admitted 
no  denial,  as  little  bragged  as  it  apologized,  since  his 
candour  matched  his  force  of  will. 

Taking  stock  of  him  thus,  from  the  corner  of  the  sofa, 
imagination,  intelligence,  affections  alike  actively  in  play, 
Damaris'  colour  rose,  her  pulse  quickened,  and  her  great 
eyes  grew  wide,  finely  and  softly  gay. 

Faircloth  moved.  Turned  his  head.  Met  her  eyes,  and 
looking  into  them  his  face  blanched  perceptibly  under  its 
couche  of  sunburn. 

"  Damaris,"  he  said,  "  Damaris,  what  has  happened? 
— Stop  though,  you  needn't  tell  me.  I  know.  We've  found 
one  another — haven't  we? — Found  one  another  more  in 


190  DEADHAM  HARD 

the  silence  than  in  the  talking. — Queer,  things  should 
work  that  way!  But  it  puts  a  seal  on  fact.  For  they 
couldn't  so  work  unless  the  same  stuff,  the  same  inclina- 
tion, were  embedded  right  in  the  very  innermost  sub- 
stance of  both  of  us.  You  look  rested.  You  look  glad 
— bless  you. — Isn't  that  so?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  simply  told  him. 

Faircloth  set  his  elbows  on  his  knees,  his  chin  on  his  two 
hands,  wrist  against  wrist,  and  his  glance  ranged  out  over 
the  garden  again,  to  the  pale  strip  of  the  Bar  spread 
between  river  and  sea. 

"  Then  I  can  go,"  he  said,  "  but  not  because  I've  tired 
you." 

"I' shall  never  be  tired  any  more  from — from  being 
with  you." 

"  I  don't  fancy  you  will.  All  the  same  I  must  go,  be- 
cause my  time's  up.  My  train  leaves  Marychurch  at  six, 
and  I  have  to  call  at  the  Inn,  to  bid  my  mother  good-bye, 
on  my  way  to  the  station." 

Was  the  perfect  harmony,  the  perfect  adjustment  of 
spirit  to  spirit  a  wee  bit  jarred,  did  a  mist  come  up  over 
the  heavenly  bright  sky,  Faircloth  asked  himself?  And 
answered  doggedly  that,  if  it  were  so,  he  could  not  help 
it.  For  since,  by  all  ruling  of  loyalty  and  dignity,  the 
wall  of  partition  was  ordained  to  stand,  wasn't  it  safer  to 
remind  both  himself  and  Damaris,  at  times,  of  its  presence  ? 
He  must  keep  his  feet  on  the  floor,  good  God — keep  them 
very  squarely  on  the  floor — for  otherwise,  wasn't  it  pos- 
sible to  conceive  of  their  skirting  the  edge  of  unnamable 
abysses?  In  furtherance  of  that  so  necessary  soberness  of 
outlook  he  now  went  on  speaking. 

"  But  before  I  go,  I  want  to  hark  back  to  a  matter  of 
quite  ancient  history — your  lost  shoes  and  stockings — 
for  thereby  hangs  a  tale." 

And  he  proceeded  to  tell  her  how,  about  a  week  ago, 
being  caught  by  a  wild  flurry  of  rain  in  an  outlying  part 
of  the  island,  behind  the  black  cottages  and  Inn,  he  took 
shelter  in  a  disused  ruinous  boat-house  opening  on  the 
great  reed-beds  which  here  rim  the  shore.  A  melancholy, 


THE  HARD  SCHOOL  OF  THINGS          191 

forsaken  place,  from  which,  at  low  tide,  you  can  walk 
across  the  mud-flats  to  Lampit,  with  a  pleasing  chance  of 
being  sucked  under  by  quicksands.  Abram  Sclanders' 
unhappy  half-witted  son  haunted  this  boat-house,  it  seemed, 
storing  his  shrimping  nets  there,  any  other  things  as  well, 
a  venerable  magpie's  hoard  of  scraps  and  lumber;  using 
it  as  a  run-hole,  too,  when  the  other  lads  hunted  and 
tormented  him  according  to  their  healthy,  brutal  youthful 
way. 

— A  regular  joss-house,  he'd  made  of  it.  And  set  up 
in  one  corner,  white  and  ghostly — making  you  stare  a 
minute  when  you  first  came  inside — a  ship's  figure-head,  a 
three-foot  odd  Britannia,  pudding-basin  bosomed  and 
eagle-featured,  with  castellated  headgear,  clasping  a 
trident  in  her  hand.  She,  as  presiding  deity  and 

"  In  front  of  her,"  Faircloth  said,  his  chin  still  in  his 
hands  and  eyes  gazing  away  to  the  Bar — "  earth  and 
pebbles  banked  up  into  a  flat-topped  mound,  upon  which 
stood  your  shoes  filled  with  sprays  of  hedge  fruit  and  yel- 
low button-chrysanthemums — stolen  too,  I  suppose,  from 
one  of  the  gardens  at  Lampit.  They  grow  freely  there. 
Your  silk  stockings  hung  round  her  neck,  a  posy  of  flowers 
twisted  into  them. — When  I  came  on  this  exhibition,  I 
can't  quite  tell  you  how  I  felt.  It  raised  Cain  in  me  to 
think  of  that  degraded,  misbegotten  creature  pawing  over 
and  playing  about  with  anything  which  had  belonged  to 
you.  I  was  for  making  Sclanders,  his  father,  bring  him 
over  and  give  him  the  thrashing  of  his  life,  right  there 
before  the  proofs  of  his  sins." 

"  But  you  didn't,"  Damaris  cried.  "  You  didn't. 
What  do  my  shoes  and  stockings  matter?  I  oughtn't  to 
have  left  them  on  the  shore.  It  was  putting  temptation 
in  his  way." 

Faircloth  looked  at  her  smiling. 

"  No  I  didn't,  and  for  two  reasons.  One  that  I  knew 
— even  then — you  would  find  excuses,  plead  for  mercy,  as 
you  have  just  now.  Another,  those  flowers.  If  I  had 
found — well — what  I  might  have  found,  oh !  he  should  have 
had  the  stick  or  the  dog-whip  without  stint.  But  one 


192  DEADHAM  HARD 

doesn't  practise  devil-worship  with  flowers.  It  seemed  to 
me  some  craving  after  beauty  was  there,  as  if  the  poor 
germ  of  a  soul  groped  out  of  the  darkness  towards  what 
is  fair  and  sweet.  I  dared  not  hound  it  back  into  the 
darkness,  close  down  any  dim  aspiration  after  God  it 
might  have.  So  I  left  its  pitiful  joss-house  inviolate,  the 
moan  of  the  wind  and  sighing  of  the  great  reed-beds 
making  music  for  such  strange  rites  of  worship  as  have 
been,  or  may  be,  practised  within.  Any  god  is  better  than 
none — that's  my  creed,  at  least.  And  to  defile  any  man's 
god — however  trumpery — unless  you're  amazingly  sure 
you've  a  better  one  to  offer  him  in  place  of  it  is  to  sin 
against  the  Holy  Ghost." 

Faireloth  rose  to  his  feet. 

"  Time's  up  " — he  said.  "  I  must  go.  Here  is  fare- 
well to  the  most  beautiful  day  of  my  life. — But  see, 
Damaris  " 

And  he  knelt  down,  in  front  of  her. 

"  Leave  your  shoes  and  stockings  cast  away  on  the 
Bar  and  thereby  open  the  door — for  some  people — on  to 
the  kingdom  of  heaven,  if  you  like.  But  don't,  don't,  if 
you've  the  smallest  mercy  for  my  peace  of  mind  ever 
wander  about  there  again  alone.  I  've  a  superstition  against 
it.  Something  unhappy  will  come  of  it.  It  isn't  right. 
It  isn't  safe.  When — when  I  called  you  and  you  answered 
me  through  the  mist,  I  had  a  horrible  fear  I  was  too  late. 
You  see  I  care — and  the  caring,  after  to-day,  very  certainly 
will  not  grow  less.  Take  somebody,  one  of  your  women, 
always,  with  you.  Promise  me  never  to  be  out  by  yourself. ' ' 

Wondering,  inexpressibly  touched,  Damaris  put  her  hands 
On  his  shoulders.  His  hands  sprang  to  cover  them. 

"  Of  course,  I  promise,"  she  said. 

And,  closing  her  eyes,  put  up  her  lips  to  be  kissed. 

Then  the  rattle  of  the  glass  door  on  to  the  garden  as  it 
shut.  In  the  room  a  listening  stillness,  a  great  all-invading 
emptiness.  Finally  Hordle,  with  the  tea-tray,  and 

"  Mrs.  Cooper,  if  it  isn't  troubling  you,  Miss,  would  be 
glad  to  have  the  house-books  to  pay,  as  she's  walking  up 
the  village  after  tea." 


CHAPTER  XII 

CONCERNING   A   SERMON   WHICH    NEVER   WAS    PREACHED    AND 
OTHER    MATTERS    OF   LOCAL,   INTEREST 

BEFORE  passing  on  to  more  dignified  matters,  that 
period  of  nine  days  demands  to  be  noted  during 
which  the  inhabitants  of  Deadham,  all  very  much 
agog,  celebrated  the  wonder  of  Miss  Bilson's  indisputable 
disappearance  and  Damaris  Verity's  reported  adventure. 

Concerning  the  former,  Dr.  Horniblow,  good  man,  took 
himself  seriously  to  task,  deploring  his  past  action  and 
debating  his  present  duty. 

"It  is  no  use,  Jane,"  he  lamented  to  his  wife.  The 
two  had  retired  for  the  night,  darkness  and  the  bedclothes 
covering  them.  ' '  I  am  very  much  worried  about  my  share 
in  the  matter." 

"  But,  my  dear  James,  you  really  are  overscrupulous. 
What  share  had  you?  " 

The  clerical  wife  does  not  always  see  eye  to  eye  with 
her  spouse  in  respect  of  his  female  parishioners,  more 
particularly,  perhaps,  the  unmarried  ones.  Mrs.  Horni- 
blow loved,  honoured,  and — within  reasonable  limits — 
obeyed  her  James;  but  this  neither  prevented  her  being 
shrewd,  nor  knowing  her  James,  after  all,  to  be  human. 
Remembrance  of  Theresa,  heading  the  Deadham  procession 
during  the  inspection  of  Harchester  Cathedral,  sandwiched 
in  between  him  and  the  Dean,  still  rankled  in  her  wifely 
bosom. 

.  "  I  overpersuaded  Miss  Bilson  to  accompany  us  on  the 
choir  treat.  I  forgot  she  must  not  be  regarded  as  an 
entirely  free,  agent.  She  has  shown  interest  in  parish 
work  and  really  proved  very  useful  and  obliging.  Her 
acquaintance  with  architecture — the  technical  terms,  too 
— is  unusually  accurate  for  a  member  of  your  sex." 

193 


194  DEADHAM  HARD 

"  Her  business  is  teaching,"  said  the  lady. 

"  And  I  can't  but  fear  I  have  been  instrumental  in  her 
loss  of  an  excellent  position." 

"  If  her  learning  is  as  remarkable  as  you  consider  it, 
she  will  doubtless  soon  secure  another." 

"  Ah!  you're  prejudiced,  my  love.  One  cannot  but  be 
struck,  at  times,  by  the  harshness  with  which  even  women 
of  high  principle,  like  yourself,  judge  other  women." 

"  Possibly  the  highness  of  my  principles  may  be  ac- 
countable for  my  judgments — in  some  cases." 

"  Argument  is  very  unrestful,"  the  vicar  remarked, 
turning  over  on  his  side. 

"  But  there  would  be  an  end  of  conversation  if  I  always 
agreed  with  you." 

"  Tut — tut,"  he  murmured.  Then  with  renewed  plain- 
tiveness — ' '  I  cannot  make  up  my  mind  whether  it  is  not  my 
duty,  my  chivalrous  duty,  to  seek  an  interview  with  Sir 
Charles  Verity  and  explain — put  the  aspects  of  the  case 
to  him  as  I  see  them." 

"  Call  on  him  by  all  means.  I'll  go  with  you.  We 
ought,  in  common  civility,  to  enquire  for  Damaris  after 
this  illness  of  hers.  But  don't  explain  or  attempt  to  en- 
large on  the  case  from  your  own  point  of  view.  Sir 
Charles  will  consider  it  an  impertinence.  It  won't  ad- 
vantage Miss  Bilson  and  will  embroil  you  with  the  most 
important  of  your  parishioners.  The  wisdom  of  the  ser- 
pent is  permitted,  on  occasion  even  recommended." 

"  A  most  dangerous  doctrine,  Jane,  most  dangerous, 
save  under  authority." 

"  What  authority  can  be  superior  to  that  under  which 
the  recommendation  was  originally  given?  " 

"  My  love,  you  become  slightly  profane. — I  implore  you 
don't  argue — and  at  this  hour!  When  a  woman  touches 
on  exegesis,  on  theology  " 

"  All  I  know  upon  those  subjects  you,  dear,  have  taught 
me." 

' '  Ah !  well — ah !  well  ' ' — the  good  man  returned,  at 
once  mollified  and  suspicious.  For  might  not  the  compli- 
ment be  regarded  as  something  of  a  back-handerf  "  We 


THE  HARD  SCHOOL  OF  THINGS          195 

can  defer  our  decision  till  to-morrow.  Perhaps  we  had 
better,  as  you  propose,  call  together.  I  need  not  go  straight 
to  the  point,  but  watch  my  opportunity  and  slip  in  a  word 
edgeways. ' ' 

He  audibly  yawned — the  hint,  like  the  yawn,  a  broad  one. 
The  lady  did  not  take  it,  however.  So  far  she  had  held  her 
own;  more — had  nicely  secured  her  ends.  But  further 
communications  trembled  upon  her  tongue.  The  word  is 
just — literally  trembled,  for  they  might  cause  anger,  and 
James'  anger — it  happened  rarely — she  held  in  quite,  to 
herself,  uncomfortable  respect. 

"  I  fear  there  is  a  good  deal  of  objectionable  gossip 
going  about  the  village  just  now,"  she  tentatively  com- 
menced. 

"  Then  pray  don't  repeat  it  to  me,  my  love  " — another 
yawn  and  an  irritable  one.  "  Gossip  as  you  know  is  ab- 
horrent to  me." 

"  And  to  me — but  one  needs  to  be  forearmed  with  the 
truth  if  one  is  to  rebut  it  conclusively.  Only  upon  such 
grounds  should  I  think  of  mentioning  this  to  you." 

She  made  a  dash. 

"  James,  have  you  by  chance  ever  heard  peculiar 
rumours  about  young  Darcy  Faircloth's  parentage?  " 

"  In  mercy,  Jane — what  a  question! — and  from  you! 
I  am  inexpressibly  shocked." 

' '  So  was  I,  when — I  won 't  mention  names — when  such 
rumours  were  hinted  to  me.  I  assured  the  person  with 
whom  I  was  talking  that  I  had  never  heard  a  word 
on  the  subject.  But  she  said,  '  One  can't  help  having 
eyes/" 

"  Or,  some  of  you,  noses  for  carrion." 

Here  he  gave  her  the  advantage.  She  was  not  slow  to 
make  play  with  it. 

"  Now  it  is  my  turn  to  be  shocked,"  she  said — "  and 
not,  I  think,  James,  without  good  cause." 

"  Yes,  I  apologize,"  the  excellent  man  answered  im- 
mediately. "  I  apologize;  but  to  have  so  foul  a  sugges- 
tion of  parochial  scandal  let  loose  on  me  suddenly,  flung 
full  in  my  teeth,  as  I  may  say — and  by  you !  I  was  taken 


196  DEADHAM  HARD 

off  my  guard  and  expressed  myself  coarsely.    Yes,  Jane,  I 
apologize. ' ' 

"  Then  I  have  you  authority  for  contradicting  these 
rumours?  " 

The  Vicar  of  Deadham  groaned  in  the  darkness,  and 
rustled  under  the  bedclothes.  His  perplexity  was  great 
on  being  thus  confronted  by  the  time-honoured  question 
as  to  how  far,  in  the  interests  of  public  morality,  it  is 
justifiable  for  the  private  individual  roundly  to  lie. 
Finally  he  banked  on  compromise,  that  permanently  pre- 
siding genius  of  the  Church  of  England  '  as  by  law 
established. ' 

"  You  have  me  on  the  hip,  my  love,"  he  told  his  wife 
quite  meekly. 

But,  ast  she  began  rather  eagerly  to  speak,  he  stopped 
her. 

"Let  be,  my  dear  Jane,"  he  bade  her,  "let  be.  I 
neither  deny  or  confirm  the  rumours  to  which  I  imagine 
you  allude.  Silence  is  most  becoming  for  us  both.  Con- 
tinue to  assure  any  persons,  ill-advised  and  evil-minded 
enough  to  approach  you — I  trust  they  may  prove  but 
few — that  you  have  never  heard  a  word  of  this  sub- 
ject. You  will  never — I  can  confidently  promise  you 
— hear  one  from  me. — I  shall  make  it  my  duty  to  preach 
on  the  iniquity  of  back-biting,  tale-bearing,  scandal- 
mongering  next  Sunday,  and  put  some  to  the  blush,  as 
I  trust.  St.  Paul  will  furnish  me  with  more  than  one 
text  eminently  apposite. — Let  me  think — let  me  see — hum 
— ah!  yes." 

And  he  fell  to  quoting  from  the  Pauline  epistles  in 
Greek — to  the  lively  annoyance  of  his  auditor,  whose  edu- 
cation, though  solid  did  not  include  a  knowledge  of  those 
languages  vulgarly  known  as  "  dead."  She  naturally 
sought  means  to  round  on  him. 

"  Might  you  not  compromise  yourself  rather  by  such  a 
sermon,  James?  "  she  presently  said. 

"  Compromise  myself?  Certainly  not. — Pray,  Jane, 
how?  " 

"  By  laying  yourself  open  to  the  suspicion  of  a  larger 


THE  HARD  SCHOOL  OF  THINGS          197 

acquaintance  with  the  origin  of  those  rumours  than  you 
are  willing  to  admit." 

The  shaft  went  home. 

"  This  is  a  mere  attempt  to  draw  me.  You  are  disin- 
genuous. ' ' 

"  Nothing  of  the  sort,"  the  lady  declared.  "  My  one 
object  is  to  protect  you  from  criticism.  And  preaching 
upon  gossip  must  invite  rather  than  allay  interest,  thus 
giving  this  particular  gossip  a  new  lease  of  life.  The 
application  would  be  too  obvious.  Clearly,  James,  it  would 
be  wiser  to  wait." 

"  The  serpent,  again  the  serpent — and  one  I've  warmed 
in  my  bosom,  too  " — Then  aloud — "  I  will  think  it  over, 
my  love.  Possibly  your  view  may  be  the  right  one.  It  is 
worth  consideration. — That  must  be  sufficient.  And  now, 
Jane,  I  do  implore  you  give  over  discussion  and  let  us 
say  good  night." 

It  may  be  registered  as  among  the  consequences  of  these 
nocturnal  exercises,  that  Dr.  Horniblow  abstained  from 
tickling  the  ears  of  his  congregation,  on  the  following 
Sunday,  with  a  homily  founded  upon  the  sin  tale-bearing ; 
and  that  he  duly  called,  next  day,  at  The  Hard  accom- 
panied by  his  wife. 

The  visit — not  inconceivably  to  his  inward  thanksgiving 
— proved  unfruitful  of  opportunity  for  excusing  Miss 
Bilson,  to  her  former  employer,  by  accusing  himself,  Sir 
Charles  Verity's  courtesy  being  of  an  order  calculated  to 
discourage  any  approach  to  personal  topics.  Unfruitful, 
also,  of  enlightenment  to  Mrs.  Horniblow  respecting  mat- 
ters which — as  the  good  lady  ashamedly  confessed  to  her- 
self— although  forbidden  by  her  lord,  still  intrigued  her 
while,  of  course,  they  most  suitably  shocked.  For  the  life 
of  her  she  could  not  help  looking  out  for  signs  of  disturb- 
ance and  upheaval.  But  found  none,  unless — and  that 
presented  a  conundrum  difficult  of  solution — Damaris' 
pretty  social  readiness  and  grace  in  the  reception  of  her 
guests  might  be,  in  some  way,  referable  to  lately  reported 
events.  That,  and  the  fact  the  young  girl  was — as  the 
saying  is — "  all  eyes  " — eyes  calm,  fathomless,  reflective, 


198  DEADHAM  HARD 

which  yet,  when  you  happened  to  enter  their  sphere  of 
vision,  covered  you  with  a  new-born  gentleness.  Mrs. 
Horniblow  caught  herself  growing  lyrical — thinking  of 
stars,  of  twin  mountain  lakes,  the  blue-purple  of  ocean. 
A  girl  in  love  is  blessed  with  just  such  eyes — sometimes. 
Whereupon,  remembering  her  own  two  girls,  May  and 
Doris — good  as  gold,  bless  them,  yet,  her  shrewdness  pro- 
nounced, when  compared  with  Damaris,  but  homely  pieces 
— the  excellent  woman  sighed. 

What  did  it  all  then  amount  to  ?  Mrs.  Horniblow 's  logic 
failed.  "  All  eyes  " — and  very  lovely  ones  at  that — 
Damaris  might  be;  yet  her  tranquillity  and  serenity  ap- 
peared beyond  question.  Must  thrilling  mystery  be  voted 
no  more  than  a  mare's-nest? — Only,  did  not  the  fact 
remain  that  James  had  refused  to  commit  himself  either 
way,  thereby  naturally  landing  himself  in  affirmation  up 
to  the  neck?  She  gave  it  up. 

But,  even  in  the  giving  up,  could  not  resist  probing 
just  a  little.  The  two  gentlemen  were  out  of  earshot, 
standing  near  the  glass  door. — How  James'  black,  bow- 
windowed  figure  and  the  fixed  red  in  his  clean-shaven, 
slightly  pendulous  cheeks,  did  show  up  to  be  sure,  in  the 
light! — Unprofitable  gift  of  observation,  for  possession 
of  which  she  so  frequently  had  cause  to  reproach  her- 
self.  

"  You  still  look  a  little  run  down  and  pale,  my  dear," 
she  said.  "  It  isn't  for  me  to  advise,  but  wouldn't  a  change 
of  air  and  scene  be  good,  don't  you  think?  " 

Damaris  assured  her  not — in  any  case  not  yet.  Later, 
after  Christmas,  she  and  her  father  might  very  likely  go 
abroad.  But  till  then  they  had  a  full  programme  of 
guests. 

"  Colonel  Carteret  comes  to  us  next  week;  and  my  aunt 
Felicia  always  likes  to  be  here  in  November.  She  enjoys 
that  month  at  the  seaside,  finding  it,  she  says,  so  poetic. ' ' 

Damaris  smiled,  her  eyes  at  once,  and  more  than  ever, 
eloquent  and  unfathomable. 

"  And  I  learned  only  this  morning  an  old  Anglo-Indian 
friend  of  ours,  Mrs.  Mackinder,  whom  I  should  be  quite 


THE  HARD  SCHOOL  OF  THINGS          199 

dreadfully  sorry  to  miss,  is  spending  the  autumn  at 
Stourmouth." 

Mrs.  Horniblow  permitted  herself  a  dash. 

"  At  Stourmouth — yes?  "  she  ventured.  "  That  re- 
minds me.  I  hear — how  far  the  information  is  correct  I 
cannot  pretend  to  say — that  kind  little  person,  Miss  Bilson, 
has  been  there  with  Miss  Verity  this  last  week.  I  ob- 
served we  had  not  met  her  in  the  village  just  lately.  I 
hope  you  have  good  news  of  her.  When  is  she  expected 
back?  " 

Without  hesitation  or  agitation  came  the  counter-stroke. 

"  I  don't  know,"  Damaris  answered.  "  Her  plans,  I 
believe,  are  uncertain  at  present.  You  and  Dr.  Horni- 
blow will  stay  to  tea  with  us,  won't  you?  " — this  charm- 
ingly. "  It  will  be  here  in  a  very  few  minutes — I  can 
ring  for  it  at  once." 

And  the  lady  laughed  to  herself,  good-temperedly  ac- 
cepting the  rebuff.  For  it  was  neatly  delivered,  and  she 
could  admire  clever  fencing  even  though  she  herself  were 
pinked. — As  to  tea,  she  protested  positive  shame  at  pro- 
longing her  visit — for  didn't  it  already  amount  rather  to 
a  "  visitation?  " — yet  retained  her  seat  with  every  ap- 
pearance of  satisfaction. — If  the  truth  must  be  told,  Mrs. 
Cooper's  cakes  were  renowned  throughout  society  at  Dead- 
ham,  as  of  the  richest,  the  most  melting  in  the  mouth; 
and  James — hence  not  improbably  the  tendency  to  ab- 
dominal protuberance — possessed  an  inordinate  fondness 
for  cakes.  He  had  shown  himself  so  docile  in  respect  of 
projected  inflammatory  sermons,  and  of  morning  calls 
personally  conducted  by  his  wife,  that  the  latter  could  not 
find  it  in  her  heart  to  ravish  him  away  from  these  ap- 
proaching very  toothsome  delights.  Nay — let  him  stay  and 
eat — for  was  not  such  staying  good  policy,  she  further  re- 
flected, advertising  the  fact  she  bore  no  shadow  of  malice 
towards  her  youthful  hostess  for  that  neatly  delivered 
rebuff. 

After  this  sort,  therefore,  was  gossip,  for  the  time  being 
at  all  events,  scotched  if  not  actually  killed.  Parochial 
excitement  flagged  the  sooner,  no  doubt,  because,  of  the 


200  DEADHAM  HARD 

four  persons  chiefly  responsible  for  its  creation,  two  were 
invisible  and  the  remaining  two  apparently  quite  uncon- 
scious of  its  ever  having  existed. — Mrs.  Lesbia  Faircloth, 
at  the  Inn,  the  Vicar's  wife  left  out  of  the  count. — If 
Sir  Charles  Verity  and  Damaris  had  hurried  away,  gossip 
would  have  run  after  them  with  liveliest  yelpings.  But 
this  practise  of  masterly  inactivity  routed  criticism.  How 
far  was  it  studied,  cynical  on  the  part  of  the  father,  or 
innocent  upon  that  of  the  daughter,  she  could  not  tell 
one  bit;  but  that  practically  it  carried  success  along  with 
it,  she  saw  to  be  indubitable.  "  Face  the  music  and  the 
band  stops  playing  " — so  she  put  it  to  herself,  as  she 
walked  down,  the  drive  to  the  front  gate,  her  James — was 
he  just  a  trifle  crestfallen,  good  man? — strolling,  umbrella 
in  hand,  beside  her. 

All  subsequent  outbreaks  of  gossip  may  be  described  as 
merely  sporadic.  They  did  not  spread.  As  when,  for 
instance,  peppery  little  Dr.  Cripps — still  smarting  under 
Dr.  McCabe's  introduction  into  preserves  he  had  reckoned 
exclusively  his  own — advised  himself  to  throw  off  a  nasty 
word  or  so  on  the  subject  to  Commander  Batty  e  and  Cap- 
tain Taylor,  over  strong  waters  and  cigars  in  his  surgery 
— tea,  the  ladies,  and  the  card-table  left  to  their  own 
devices  in  the  drawing-room  meanwhile — one  evening  after 
a  rubber  of  whist. 

"  Damn  bad  taste,  I  call  it,  in  a  newcomer  like  Cripps," 
the  sailor  had  remarked  later  to  the  soldier.  "  But  if  a 
man  isn't  a  gentleman  what  can  you  expect?  " — And  with 
that,  as  among  local  persons  of  quality,  the  matter  finally 
dropped. 

Mrs.  Doubleday  and  Butcher  Cleave,  to  give  an  example 
from  a  lower  social  level,  agreed,  across  the  former's 
counter  in  the  village  shop,  that 

"  It  is  the  duty  of  every  true  Christian  to  let  bygones 
be  bygones — and  a  downright  flying  in  the  face  of  Provi- 
dence, as  you  may  say,  to  do  otherwise,  when  good  cus- 
tomers, whose  money  you're  sure  of,  are  so  scarce.  For 
without  The  Hard  and — to  give  everyone  their  due — 
without  the  Island  also,  where  would  trade  have  been  in 


THE  HARD  SCHOOL  OF  THINGS          201 

Deadham  these  ten  years  and  more  past?  Mum's  the 
word,  take  it  from  me," — and  each  did  take  it  from  the 
other,  with  rich  conviction  of  successfully  making  the  best 
of  both  worlds,  securing  eternal  treasure  in  Heaven  while 
cornering  excellent  profits  on  earth. 

William  Jennifer  had  many  comments  to  make  in  the 
matter,  and  with  praiseworthy  reticence  concluded  to  make 
them  mainly  to  himself.  The  majority  of  them,  it  is  to  be 
feared,  were  humorous  to  the  point  of  being  unsuited  to 
print,  but  the  refrain  may  pass 

"  And  to  think  if  I  hadn't  happened  to  choose  that 
particular  day  to  take  the  little  dorgs  and  the  ferrets  rat- 
ting, the  'ole  bleesed  howd'ye  do  might  never  have  come  to 
pass!  Tidy  sum,  young  master  Darcy's  in  my  debt,  Lord 
succour  him,  for  the  rest  of  his  nat'ral  life!  " 


BOOK  III 

THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE 
FOREST 


CHAPTER  I 

AN   EPISODE    IN    THE    EMOTIONAL    EXPERIENCE    OP    THE    MAN 
WITH  THE  BLUE  EYES 

THUS  far,  for  the  surer  basing  of  our  argument,  it 
has  appeared  advisable   to  proceed   step   by  step. 
But  the  foundations  being  now  well  and  truly  laid, 
the  pace  of  our  narrative  may,  with  advantage,  quicken ;  a 
twelve  month  be  rounded  up  in  a  page,  a  decade,  should 
convenience  so  dictate,  in  a  chapter. 

To  the  furthering  of  which  advance,  let  it  be  stated  that 
the  close  of  the  year  still  in  question  marked  the  date,  for 
Damaris,  of  two  matters  of  cardinal  importance.  For  it 
was  then  Sir  Charles  Verity  commenced  writing  his  history 
of  the  reign  of  Shere  AH,  covering  the  eleven  years  follow- 
ing the  latter 's  accession  to  the  very  turbulent  throne  of 
Afghanistan  in  1863. — Colonel  Carteret  may  be  held 
mainly  responsible  for  the  inception  of  this  literary  enter- 
prise, now  generally  acclaimed  a  classic.  Had  not  Sir 
William  Napier,  so  he  argued,  made  the  soldier,  as  his- 
torian, for  ever  famous?  And  why  should  not  Charles 
Verity,  with  his  unique  knowledge  of  court  intrigues,  of 
the  people  and  the  country,  do  for  the  campaigns  of  the 
semi-barbarous  Eastern  ruler,  that  which  Sir  William  had 
done  for  Wellington's  campaign  in  the  Spanish  Penin- 
sular? 

Carteret  prophesied — and  truly  as  the  event  richly 
proved — a  finely  fascinating  book  would  eventually  come 
of  it.  Meanwhile — though  this  argument,  in  favour  of  the 
scheme,  he  kept  to  himself — the  preparation  of  the  said 

205 


206  DEADHAM  HARD 

book  would  supply  occupation  and  interest  of  which  his 
old  friend  appeared  to  him  to  stand  rather  gravely  in  need. 
For  that  something  was,  just  now,  amiss  with  Charles 
Verity,  Carteret  could  not  disguise  from  himself.  He 
was  changed,  in  a  way  a  little  broken — so  at  least  the 
younger  man's  kindly,  keenly  observant,  blue  eyes  re- 
gretfully judged  him.  He  fell  into  long  silences,  seeming 
to  sink  away  into  some  abyss  of  cheerless  thought;  while 
his  speech  had,  too  often,  a  bitter  edge  to  it.  Carteret 
mourned  these  indications  of  an  unhappy  frame  of  mind. 
Did,  more — sought  by  all  means  in  his  power  to  conjure 
them  away. 

"  We  must  make  your  father  fight  his  battles  over 
again,  dear  witch,"  he  told  Damaris,  pacing  the  terrace 
walk  topping  the  sea-wall  beside  her,  one  evening  in  the 
early  November  dusk.  "  His  record  is  a  very  brilliant  one 
and  he  ought  to  get  more  comfort  out  of  the  remembrance 
of  it.  Let's  conspire,  you  and  I,  to  make  him  sun  himself 
in  the  achievements  and  activities  of  those  earlier  years. 
What  do  you  say?  " 

"  Oh!  do  it,  do  it,"  she  answered  fervently.  "  He  is 
sad — and  I  am  so  afraid  that  it  is  partly  my  fault." 

"  Your  fault?  Why  what  wicked  practises  have  you 
been  up  to  since  I  was  here  last?  "  he  asked,  teasing  her. 

A  question  evoking,  in  Damaris,  sharp  inward  debate. 
For  her  father's  melancholy  humour  weighed  on  her,  caus- 
ing her  perplexity  and  a  measure  of  self-reproach.  She 
would  have  given  immensely  much  to  unburden  herself 
to  this  wise  and  faithful  counsellor;  and  confide  to  him 
the — to  her — strangely  moving  fact  of  Darcy  Faircloth's 
existence.  Yet,  notwithstanding  her  conviction  of  Colonel 
Carteret 's  absolute  loyalty,  she  hesitated;  restrained  in 
part  by  modesty,  in  part  by  the  fear  of  being  treacherous. 
Would  it  be  altogether  honourable  to  give  away  the  secret 
places  of  Charles  Verity's  life — of  any  man's  life  if  it 
came  to  that — even  to  so  honourable  and  trusted  a  friend? 
She  felt  handicapped  by  her  own  ignorance  moreover, 
having  neither  standards  nor  precedents  for  guidance.  She 
had  no  idea — how  should  she? — in  what  way  most  men 


regard  such  affairs,  how  far  they  accept  and  condone,  how 
far  condemn  them.  She  could  not  tell  whether  she  was 
dealing  with  a  case  original  and  extraordinary,  or  one  of 
pretty  frequent  occurrence  in  the  experience  of  those  who, 
as  the  phrase  has  it,  know  their  world.  These  considera- 
tions kept  her  timid  and  tongue-tied;  though  old  habit, 
combined  with  Carteret 's  delightful  personality  and  the 
soothing  influence  of  the  dusky  evening  quiet,  inclined 
her  to  confidences. 

"  It's  not  anything  I've  done,"  she  presently  took  him 
up  gravely.  "But,  quite  by  chance,  I  learned  something 
which  I  think  the  Commissioner  Sahib  would  rather  not 
have  had  me  hear.  I  had  to  be  quite  truthful  with  him 
about  it;  but  I  was  bewildered  and  ill.  I  blurted  things 
out  rather  I  'm  afraid,  and  hurt  him  more  than  I  need 
have  done.  I  was  so  taken  by  surprise,  you  see." 

1 '  Yes,  I  see, ' '  Carteret  said,  regardless  of  strict  veracity. 
For  he  didn't  see,  though  he  believed  himself  on  the  road 
to  seeing  and  that  some  matter  of  singular  moment. 

"  He  was  beautiful  to  me — beautiful  about  everything — 
everybody,"  she  asserted.  "  And  we  love  one  another 
not  less,  but  more,  he  and  I — of  that  I  am  sure.  Only  it's 
different — different.  We  can't  either  of  us  quite  go  back 
to  the  time  before — and  that  has  helped  to  make  him  sad." 

Carteret  listened  in  increasing  interest  aware  that  he 
sounded  unlooked-for  depths,  apprehensive  lest  those  depths 
should  harbour  disastrous  occurrences.  He  walked  the 
length  of  the  terrace  before  again  speaking.  Then,  no 
longer  teasing  but  gently  and  seriously,  he  asked  her : 

"  Do  you  feel  free  to  tell  me  openly  about  this,  and 
let  me  try  to  help  you — if  it's  a  case  for  help?  " 

Damaris  shook  her  head,  looking  up  at  him  through  the 
soft  enclosing  murk,  and  smiling  rather  ruefully. 

"  I  wish  I  knew — I  do  so  wish  I  knew,"  she  said. 
"  But  I  don't — not  yet,  anyway.  Help  me  without  my 
telling  you,  please.  The  book  is  a  splendid  idea.  And 
then  do  you  think  you  could  persuade  him  to  let  us  go 
away  abroad,  for  a  time?  Everything  here  must  remind 
him — as  it  does  me — of  what  happened.  It  was  quite 


208  DEADHAM  HARD 

right,"  she  went  on  judicially — "  for  everyone's  sake, 
we  should  stay  here  just  the  same  at  first.  People," 
with  a  scornful  lift  of  the  head  Carteret  noted 
and  admired — "  might  have  mistaken  our  reason  for 
going  away.  They  had  to  be  made  to  understand  we 
were  perfectly  indifferent. — I  knew  all  that,  though  we 
never  discussed  it.  One  does  things,  sometimes,  just  be- 
cause it's  right  they  should  be  done,  without  any  sort  of 
planning — just  by  instinct.  Still  I  know  we  can't  be  quite 
natural  here.  What  happened  comes  between  us.  We're 
each  anxious  about  the  other  and  feel  a  constraint,  though 
we  never  speak  of  it.  That  can't  be  avoided,  I  suppose, 
for  we  both  suffered  a  good  deal  at  the  time — but  he  most, 
much  the  most  because  " 

Damaris  paused. 

"  Because  why?  " 

"  I  suppose  because  I'm  young;  and  then,  once  I  got 
accustomed  to  the  idea,  I  saw  it,  meant  what  was  very 
wonderful  in  some  ways — a  wonderfulness  which,  for  me, 
would  go  on  and  on — a  whole  new  country  for  me  to  ex- 
plore and  travel  in,  quite  my  own — and — and — which  I 
couldn't  help  loving." 

"  Heigh  ho!  heigh  ho!  "  Carteret  put  in  softly.  "  This 
becomes  exciting,  dear  witch,  you  know." 

"  I  don't  want  to  be  tantalizing,"  she  answered  him, 
still  pacing  in  the  growing  dimness  of  land  and  sea. 

The  dead  black  mass  of  the  great  ilex  trees  looked  to 
touch  the  low  hanging  sky.  A  grey  gleam,  here  and  there, 
lit  the  surface  of  the  swirling  tide-river.  The  boom  of  the 
slow  plunging  waves  came  from  the  back  of  the  Bar,  and 
now  and  again  wild-fowl  cried,  faint  and  distant,  out  en 
the  mud-flats  of  the  Haven. 

' '  Listen, ' '  Damaris  said.  "It  is  mournful  here.  It 
tells  you  the  same  things  over  and  over  again.  It  sort  of 
insists  on  them.  The  place  seems  so  peaceful,  but  it  never 
lets  you  alone,  really.  And  now,  after  what  happened,  it 
never  leaves  him — the  Commissioner  Sahib — alone.  It  re- 
peats the  same  story  to  him  over  and  over  again.  It  wears 
him  as  dropping  water  wears  away  stone.  And  there  is 


THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  FOREST     209 

no  longer  the  same  reason  for  staying  there  was  at  first. 
Persuade  him.  to  go  away,  to  take  me  abroad.  And  come 
with  us — couldn't  you? — for  a  little  while  at  least.  Is 
it  selfish  to  ask  you  to  leave  your  hunting  and  shooting 
so  early  in  the  season?  I  don't  want  to  be  selfish.  But 
he  isn't  well.  Whether  he  isn't  well  in  his  body  or  only 
in  his  thinkings,  I  can't  tell.  But  it  troubles  me.  He 
sleeps  badly,  I  am  afraid.  The  nights  must  be  very  long 
and  lonely  when  one  can't  sleep. — If  you  would  come,  it 
would  be  so  lovely.  I  should  feel  so  safe  about  him.  You 
and  the  book  should  cure  him  between  you.  I'm  perfectly 
sure  of  that.  To  have  you  would  make  us  both  so 
happy  " 

And,  in  her  innocent  importunity,  Damaris  slipped  her 
hand  within  Colonel  Carteret's  arm  sweetly  coaxing  him. 

He  started  slightly.  Threw  back  his  head,  standing, 
straight  and  tall,  in  the  mysterious  twilight  beside  her. 
Raised  his  deerstalker  cap,  for  a  moment,  letting  the  moist 
chill  of  the  November  evening  dwell  on  his  hair  and  fore- 
head. 

Though  very  popular  with  women,  Carteret  had  never 
married,  making  a  home  for  his  elder  sister,  Mrs.  Dreydel 
— widow  of  a  friend  and  fellow  officer  in  the  then  famous 
"  Guides  " — and  her  four  sturdy,  good-looking  boys  at 
the  Norfolk  manor-house,  which  had  witnessed  his  own 
birth  and  those  of  a  long  line  of  his  ancestors.  To  bring 
up  a  family  of  his  own,  in  addition  to  his  sister's,  would 
have  been  too  costly,  and  debt  he  abhorred.  Therefore, 
such  devoirs  as  he  paid  the  great  goddess  Aphrodite,  were 
but  few  and  fugitive — he  being  by  nature  and  tempera- 
ment an  idealist  and  a  notably  clean  liver.  By  his  absten- 
tion, however,  sentiment  was  fine-trained  rather  than  ex- 
tinguished. His  heart  remained  young,  capable  of  being 
thrilled  in  instant  response  to  any  appeal  of  high  and 
delicate  quality.  It  thrilled  very  sensibly,  now,  in  response 
to  the  appeal  of  Damaris'  hand,  emphasizing  her  tender 
pleading  regarding  her  father.  She  touched,  she  charmed 
him  to  an  extent  which  obliged  him  rather  sharply  to  call 
his  senses  to  order.  Hadn't  he  known  her  ever  since  she 


210  DEADHAM  HARD 

was  a  babe  a  span  long?  Wasn't  she,  according  to  all 
reason,  a  babe  still,  in  as  far  as  any  decently  minded  male 
being  of  his  mature  age  could  be  concerned?  He  told 
himself,  at  once  humorously  and  sternly,  he  ought  to  feel 
so,  think  so — whether  he  did  or  not.  And  ought,  in  his 
case,  was  a  word  not  to  be  played  fast  and  loose  with. 
Once  uttered  it  must  be  obeyed. 

Wherefore,  thus  conclusively  self -admonished,  he  put  his 
cap  on  his  head  again  and,  bending  a  little  over  Damaris, 
patted  her  hand  affectionately  as  it  rested  upon  his  arm. 

"  Very  good — I'll  hold  myself  and  my  future  at  your 
disposition,"  he  gaily  said  to  her.  "  As  much  hunting 
and  shooting  as  I  care  for  will  very  well  keep.  Don't 
bother  your  pretty  head  about  them.  During  the 
Christmas  holidays,  my  nephews  will  be  ready  enough,  in 
all  conscience,  to  let  fly  with  my  guns  and  ride  my  horses, 
so  neither  will  be  wasted.  I'll  go  along  with  you  gladly, 
for  no  man  living  is  dearer  to  me  than  your  father,  and 
no  business  could  be  more  to  my  taste  than  scotching  and 
killing  the  demons  which  plague  him.  They  plague  all  of 
us,  in  some  form  or  other,  at  times,  as  life  goes  on." 

Very  gently  he  disengaged  his  arm  from  her  hand. 

"  Take  me  indoors,"  he  said,  "  and  give  me  my  tea — 
over  which  we'll  further  discuss  plots  for  kidnapping 
Verity  and  carrying  him  off  south.  The  French  Riviera 
for  preference? — Hullo — what  the  deuce  is  that?  " 

For,  as  he  spoke,  the  two  cats  appearing  with  miracu- 
lous suddenness  out  of  nowhere — as  is  the  custom  of  their 
priceless  tribe — rushed  wildly  past.  Fierce,  sinuous,  in- 
finitely graceful  shapes,  leaping  high  in  air,  making 
strange  noises,  chirrup  ings  and  squeakings,  thudding  of 
quick  little  paws,  as  they  chased  one  another  round  the 
antiquated,  seaward-trained  cannon  and  pyramid  of  ball. 

For  a  minute  or  so  Damaris  watched  them,  softly  laugh- 
ing. Then,  in  the  content  bred  of  Carteret's  promise  and 
the  joy  of  coming  travel,  something  of  their  frisky  spirit 
caught  her  too — a  spirit  which,  for  all  young  creatures, 
magically  haunts  the  dusk.  And,  as  they  presently  fled 
away  up  the  lawn,  Damaris  fled  after  them,  circling  over 


THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  FOREST     211 

the  moist  grass,   darting  hither  and  thither,  alternately 
pursuing  and  pursued. 

Colonel  Carteret,  following  soberly,  revolving  many 
thoughts,  did  not  overtake  her  until  the  garden  door  was 
reached.  There,  upon  the  threshold,  the  light  from  within 
covering  and  revealing  her,  she  awaited  him^  Her  bosom 
rose  and  fell,  her  breathing  being  a  little  hurried,  her  face 
a  little  flushed.  Her  grave  eyes  sparkled  and  danced. 

"  Oh!  you've  made  me  so  glad,  so  dreadfully  glad,"  she 
said.  "  And  I  never  properly  thanked  you.  Forgive  me. 
I  never  can  resist  them — I  went  mad  with  the  cats." 

Her  young  beauty  appeared  to  Carteret  very  notable; 
and,  yes — although  she  might  disport  herself  in  this 
childishly  frolic  fashion — it  was  idle  to  call  her,  or  pre- 
tend her  any  longer  a  babe.  For  cause  to  him  unknown, 
through  force  of  some  experience  of  which  he  remained 
ignorant,  she  had  undeniably  come  into  the  charm  and 
mystery  of  her  womanhood — a  very  fair  and  noble  blos- 
soming before  which  reverently,  if  wistfully,  he  bowed  his 
head. 

"  It's  good  to  have  you  declare  yourself  glad,  dear 
witch,  in  that  case  I  'm  glad  too, ' '  he  answered  her.  ' '  But 
as  to  forgiveness,  I'm  inclined  to  hold  it  over  until  you 
leave  off  being  tantalizing — and,  upon  my  word,  I  find 
you  uncommonly  far  from  leaving  off  just  now!  " 

"  You  mean  until  I  tell  you  what  happened?  " 

Carteret  nodded,  searching  her  face  with  wise,  fearless, 
smiling  eyes. 

' '  Ah !  yes, ' '  he  said,  ' '  we  can  put  it  that  way  if  you 
please."  Damaris  hesitated  detecting  some  undercurrent 
of  meaning  which  puzzled  her. 

"  I  may  never  have  to  tell  you.  My  father  may  speak 
of  it — or  you  may  just  see  for  yourself.  Only  then,  then  " 
— she  with  a  moving  earnestness  prayed  him — "  be  kind, 
be  lenient.  Don't  judge  harshly — promise  me  you 
won't." 

And  as  she  spoke  her  expression  softened  to  a  great  and 
unconscious  tenderness ;  for  she  beheld,  in  thought,  a  wide- 
winged  sea-bird,  above  certain  letters,  tattooed  in  indigo 


212  DEADHAM  HARD 

and  crimson  upon  the  back  of  a  lean  shapely  brown 
hand. 

"  I  promise  you,"  Carteret  said,  and  passed  in  at  the 
door  marvelling  somewhat  sadly. 

' '  Is  it  that  ?  "  he  asked  himself.  ' '  If  so,  it  comes  early. 
Has  she  gone  the  way  of  all  flesh  and  fallen  in  love?  " 

And  this  conversation,  as  shall  presently  be  set  forth, 
ushered  in  that  second  matter  of  cardinal  importance, 
already  referred  to,  which  for  Damaris  marked  the  close 
of  this  eventful  year. 


CHAPTER  II 

TELLING  HOW   DAMARIS  RENEWED   HER  ACQUAINTANCE   WITH 
THE   BELOVED   LADY  OF   HER   INFANCY 

THE  windows  of  the  sitting-room — upon  the  first 
floor  of  the  long,  three-storied,  yellow-painted  hotel 
— commanded  a  vast  and  glittering  panorama  of 
indented  coast-line  and  purple  sea.  Here  and  there,  in  the 
middle  distance,  little  towns,  pale-walled  and  glistering, 
climbed  upward  amid  gardens  and  olive  yards  from  the 
rocky  shore.  Heathlands  and  pine  groves  covered  the 
intervening  headlands  and  steep  valleys,  save  where 
meadows  marked  the  course  of  some  descending  stream. 
To  the  north-east,  above  dark  wooded  foot-hills,  the  flushed 
whiteness  of  snow-summits  cut  delicately  into  the  solid 
blue  of  the  sky. 

Stretched  upon  the»  sun-faded,  once  scarlet  cushions  of 
the  window-seat,  Damaris  absorbed  her  fill  of  light,  and 
warmth,  and  colour.  Pleading  imperative  feminine  mend- 
ings, she  stayed  at  home  this  afternoon.  She  felt  disposed 
to  rest — here  in  the  middle  of  her  pasture,  so  to  say — and 
resting,  both  count  her  blessings  and  dream,  offering  hospi- 
tality to  all  and  any  pleasant  visions  which  might  elect 
to  visit  her.  And,  indeed,  those  blessings  appeared  a 
goodly  company,  worthy  of  congratulation  and  of  grati- 
tude. She  let  the  black  silk  stocking,  the  toe  of  which  she 
affected  to  darn,  slip  neglected  on  to  the  floor  while  she 
added  up  the  pleasant  column  of  them. 

The  journey  might  be  counted  as  a  success — that  to 
start  with.  For  her  father  was  certainly  better,  readier  of 
speech  and  of  interest  in  outside  things.  Oh!  the  dear 
"  man  with  the  blue  eyes  "  had  a  marvellous  hand  on  him 
— tactful,  able,  devoted,  always  serene,  often  even  gay. 
Never  could  there  be  another  so  perfect,  because  so  sane 

213 


214  DEADHAM  HARD 

and  comfortable,  a  friend.  Her  debt  to  him  was  of  old 
standing  and  still  for  ever  grew.  How  she  could  ever 
pay  it  she  didn't  know!  Which  consideration,  for  an  in- 
stant, clouded  her  content.  Not  that  she  felt  the  obligation 
irksome;  but,  that  out  of  pure  affection,  she  wanted  to 
make  him  some  return,  some  acknowledgment;  wanted  to 
give,  since  to  her  he  had  so  lavishly  given. 

Then  the  book — of  all  Carteret's  clever  manipulations 
the  cleverest!  For  hadn't  it  begun  to  grip  her  father, 
and  that  quite  divertingly  much?  He  was  occupied  with 
it  to  the  point  of  really  being  a  tiny  bit  self-conscious  and 
shy.  Keen  on  it,  transparently  eager — though  contemptu- 
ous, in  high  mighty  sort,  of  course,  of  his  own  eagerness 
when  he  remembered.  Only,  more  than  half  the  time  he 
so  deliciously  failed  to  remember. — And  with  that  Damaris' 
thought  took  another  turn,  a  more  private  and  personal 
one. 

For  in  truth  the  book  gripped  her,  too,  in  most  intimate 
and  novel  fashion,  revealing  to  her  the  enchantments  of 
an  art  in  process  of  being  actively  realized  in  living,  con- 
structive effort.  Herein  she  found,  not  the  amazement 
of  a  new  thing,  but  of  a  thing  so  natural  that  it  appeared 
just  a  part  of  her  very  self,  though,  until  now,  an  undis- 
covered one.  To  read  other  people's  books  is  a  joyous 
employment,  as  she  well  knew;  but  to  make  a  book  all 
one's  own  self,  to  watch  and  compel  its  growth  into  co- 
herent form  and  purpose  is — so  she  began  to  suspect — 
among  the  rarest  delights  granted  to  mortal  man. 

Her  own  share  of  such  making,  in  the  present  case,  was 
of  the  humblest  it  is  true,  mere  spade  labour  and  hod- 
bearing — namely,  writing  from  Charles  Verity's  dicta- 
tion, verifying  names  and  dates,  checking  references  and 
quotations.  Still  each  arresting  phrase,  each  felicitous 
expression,  the  dramatc  ring  of  some  virile  word,  the  broad 
onward  sweep  of  stately  prose  in  narrative  or  sustained 
description,  not  only  charmed  her  ear  but  challenged  her 
creative  faculty.  She  put  herself  to  school  in  respect  of 
it  all,  learning  day  by  day  a  lesson. — This  was  the  way 
it  should  be  done.  Ambition  prodded  her  on. — For 


THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  FOREST     215 

mightn't  she  aspire  to  do  it  too,  some  day?  Mightn't, 
granted  patience  and  application,  the  writing  of  books 
prove  to  be  her  business,  her  vocation?  The  idea  floated 
before  her,  vague  as  yet,  though  infinitely  beguiling. 
Whereupon  the  whole  world  took  on  a  new  significance 
and  splendour,  as  it  needs  must  when  nascent  talent  claims 
its  own,  asserts  its  dawning  right  to  dominion  and  to 
freedom. 

And  there  the  pathos  of  her  father's  position  touched  her 
nearly.  For  wasn't  it  a  little  cruel  this  remarkable  gift 
of  his  should  so  long  have  lain  dormant,  unsuspected  by 
his  friends,  unknown  to  the  reading  public,  only  to  dis- 
close itself,  and  that  by  the  merest  hazard,  as  a  last  re- 
source ? — It  did  not  seem  fair  that  he  had  not  earlier  found 
and  enjoyed  his  literary  birthright. 

Damaris  propounded  this  view  to  Colonel  Carteret  with 
some  heat.  But  he  smilingly  discounted  her  fondly  indig- 
nant lament. 

"  Better  late  than  never  anyhow,  my  dear  witch,"  he 
said.  "  And  just  picture  the  satisfaction  of  this  brilliant 
rally  when,  as  we'd  reason  to  believe,  he  himself  reckoned 
the  game  was  up!  Oh!  there  are  points  about  a  tardy 
harvest  such  as  this,  by  no  means  to  be  despised.  Thrice 
blessed  the  man  who,  like  your  father,  finding  such  a 
harvest,  also  finds  it  to  be  of  a  sort  he  can  without  scruple 
reap. ' ' 

Of  which  cryptic  utterance  Damaris,  at  the  time,  could — 
to  quote  her  own  phrase — ' '  make  no  sense !  ' ' — Nor  could 
she  make  sense  of  it,  now,  when  counting  her  blessings, 
she  rested,  in  happy  idleness,  upon  the  faded  scarlet 
cushions  of  the  window-seat. 

She  remembered  the  occasion  quite  well  on  which 
Carteret  thus  expressed  himself  one  afternoon,  during 
their  stay  in  Paris,  on  the  southward  journey.  She  had 
worn  a  new  myrtle-green,  black-braided,  fur-trimmed  cloth 
pelisse  and  hat  to  match,  as  she  also  remembered,  bought 
the  day  before  at  a  fascinating  shop  in  the  Rue  Castiglione. 
Agreeably  conscious  her  clothes  were  not  only  very  much 
"  the  right  thing  "  but  decidedly  becoming,  she  had  gone, 


216  DEADHAM  HARD 

with  him,  to  pay  a  visit  of  ceremony  at  the  convent  school 
— near  the  Church  of  St.  Germain-les-Pres — where,  as  a 
little  girl  of  six,  fresh  from  India  and  the  high  dignities 
of  the  Bhutpur  Sultan-i-bagh,  she  had  been  deposited  by 
her  father's  old  friend,  Mrs.  John  Pereira,  who  had  brought 
her  and  Sarah  Watson,  her  nurse,  back  to  Europe. 

The  sojourn  at  the  convent — once  the  surprise  of  trans- 
lation from  East  to  West,  from  reigning  princess  to  little 
scholar  was  surmounted — proved  fertile  in  gentle  memo- 
ries. The  visit  of  to-day,  not  only  revived  these  memories, 
but  added  to  their  number.  For  it  passed  off  charmingly. 
Carteret  seemed  by  no  means  out  of  place  among  the  nuns 
— well-bred  and  gracious  women  of  hidden,  consecrated 
lives.  They,  indeed,  appeared  instinctively  drawn  to  him 
and  fluttered  round  him  in  the  sweetest  fashion  imagin- 
able ;  he,  meanwhile,  bearing  himself  towards  them  with  an 
exquisite  and  simple  courtesy  beyond  all  praise.  Never 
had  Damaris  admired  the  "  man  with  the  blue  eyes  " 
more,  never  felt  a  more  perfect  trust  in  him,  than  when 
beholding  him  as  Mousquetaire  au  Convent  thus ! 

As  they  emerged  again  into  the  clear  atmosphere  and 
resonance  of  the  Paris  streets,  and  made  their  way  back  by 
the  Rue  du  Bac,  the  Pont  Royal  and  the  gardens  of  the 
Tuileries,  to  their  hotel  in  the  Rue  de  Rivoli,  Carteret  spoke 
reverently  of  the  religious  life,  and  the  marvellous  adapta- 
bility of  the  Catholic  system  to  every  need,  every  attitude 
of  the  human  heart  and  conscience.  He  spoke  further  of 
the  loss  those  inevitably  sustain,  who — from  whatever  cause 
— stand  outside  the  creeds,  unable  to  set  their  spiritual 
God-ward  hopes  and  aspirations  within  a  definite  external 
framework  of  doctrine  and  practice  hallowed  by  tradition. 

"  I  could  almost  wish  those  dear  holy  women  had 
gathered  your  little  soul  into  the  fold,  when  they  had  you 
in  their  keeping  and  made  a  good  Catholic  of  you,  dearest 
witch,"  he  told  her.  "  It  would  have  been  a  rather  fla- 
grant case  of  cradle-snatching,  I  own,  but  I  can't  help 
thinking  it  would  have  simplified  many  difficulties  for 
you." 

"  And  raised  a  good  many,  too,"  Damaris  gaily  answered 


THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  FOREST     217 

him.  "  For  Aunt  Harriet  Cowden  would  have  been  furious, 
and  Aunt  Felicia  distressed  and  distracted;  and  poor 
Nannie — though  she  really  got  quite  tame  with  the  Sisters, 
and  came  to  respect  them  in  the  end — would  have  broken 
her  heart  at  my  being  taught  to  worship  images,  and  have 
believed  hell  yawned  to  devour  me.  Oh!  I  think  it  was 
more  fair  to  wait. — All  the  same  I  loved  their  religion — 
I  love  it  still." 

"  Go  on  loving  it,"  he  bade  her. — And  at  once  turned 
the  conversation  to  other  themes — that  of  her  father, 
Charles  Verity  among  them,  and  the  book  on  Afghanistan, 
the  fair  copy  of  the  opening  chapters  of  which  was  just 
completed. 

Then,  the  stimulating,  insistent  vivacity  of  Paris  going 
a  little  to  Damaris'  head — since  urging,  as  always,  to  full- 
ness of  enterprise,  fullness  of  endeavour,  giving,  as  always, 
immense  joy  and  value  to  the  very  fact  of  living — she 
lamented  the  late  development  of  her  father's  literary 
genius.  A  lament  which  called  forth  Carteret's  consola- 
tory rejoinder,  along  with  this — to  her — cryptic  assertion 
as  to  the  thrice  blessed  state  of  the  man  whose  harvest, 
when  tardy,  is  of  a  description  he  need  not  scruple  to 
reap. 

"  Why,"  she  asked  herself,  "  should  he  have  said  that 
unless  with  reference  to  himself.  Reference  to  some 
private  harvest  which  he  himself  scrupled  to  reap?  " 

Damaris  slipped  her  feet  from  the  cushioned  window- 
seat  to  the  floor,  and  stooping  down  recovered  her  fallen 
black  silk  stocking.  She  felt  disturbed,  slightly  conscience- 
stricken.  For  it  had  never  occurred  to  her,  strong,  able, 
serene  of  humour  and  of  countenance  as  he  was,  that  the 
"  man  with  the  blue  eyes  "  could  have  personal  worries, 
things — as  she  put  it — he  wanted  yet  doubted  whether  he 
ought  to  have.  Surely  his  unfailing  helpfulness  and  sym- 
pathy gave  him  the  right,  in  fee-simple,  to  anything  and 
everything  he  might  happen  to  covet.  That  he  should 
covet  what  was  wrong,  what  was  selfish,  detrimental  to 
others,  seemed  incredible.  And  the  generous  pity  of  her 
youthful  tenderness,  her  impatience  of  all  privation,  all 


218  DEADHAM  HARD 

disappointment  or  denial  for  those  she  held  in  affection, 
overflowed  in  her.  She  longed  to  do  whatever  would  greatly 
please  him,  to  procure  for  him  whatever  he  wanted. 
Wouldn't  it  be  delicious  to  do  that — if  she  could  only 
find  out! 

But  this  last  brought  her  up  against  a  disquieting  lesson 
lately  learned. — Namely,  against  recognition  of  how  very 
far  the  lives  of  men — even  those  we  know  most  dearly  and 
closely — and  the  lives  of  us  women  are  really  apart.  She 
thought  of  her  father  and  Darcy  Faircloth  and  their  en- 
tirely unsuspected  relation.  This  dulled  the  edge  of  her 
enthusiasm.  For  wasn't  it  only  too  probably  the  same 
with  them  all?  Loyalty  compelled  the  question.  Had  not 
every  man  a  secret,  or  secrets,  only  penetrable,  both  for 
his  peace  of  mind  and  for  your  own,  at  considerable  risk? 

Damaris  planted  her  elbows  on  the  window-sill,  her 
chin  in  the  hollow  of  her  hands.  Her  eyes  were  solemn, 
her  face  grave  with  thought. — Verily  the  increase  of  knowl- 
edge is  the  increase  of  perplexity,  if  not  of  actual  sorrow. 
Even  the  apparently  safest  and  straightest  paths  are  be- 
set with  "  pitfall  and  with  gin  "  for  whoso  studies  to 
pursue  truth  and  refuse  subscription  to  illusion.  Your 
charity  should  be  wide  as  the  world  towards  others. 
Towards  yourself  narrow  as  a  hair,  lest  you  condone  your 
own  weakness,  greed,  or  error.  Of  temptation  to  any 
save  very  venial  sins  Damaris  had,  in  her  own  person,  little 
conception  as  yet. — Still  to  a  maiden  of  eighteen,  though 
ahe  may  have  a  generous  proportion  of  health  and  beauty, 
sufficient  fortune  and  by  no  means  contemptible  intelli- 
gence, noble  instincts,  complications  and  distresses,  both 
of  the  practical  and  theoretic  order,  may,  and  do,  at  times 
occur.  Damaris  suffered  the  shock  of  such  now;  and  into 
what  further  jungles  of  cheerless  speculation  she  might 
have  been  projected  it  is  impossible  to  say,  had  not  persons 
and  events  close  at  hand  claimed  her  attention. 

The  Grand  Hotel  at  St.  Augustin  is  situated  upon  a  long 
narrow  promontory,  which  juts  out  into  the  sea  at  right 
angles  to  the  main  trend  of  the  coast-line.  It  faces  east, 
turning  its  back  upon  the  little  town — built  on  the  site  of 
a  Roman  colonial  city,  originally  named  in  honour  of  the 


THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  FOREST     219 

pagan  Emperor  rather  than  the  Christian  Confessor  and 
ascetic.  Mediaeval  piety  bestowed  on  it  the  saintly  prefix, 
along  with  a  round-arehed  cathedral  church,  of  no  great 
size,  but  massive  proportions  and  somewhat  gloomy 
aspect. 

From  the  terrace  garden  and  carriage  drive,  immediately 
in  front  of  the  hotel,  the  ground  drops  sharply,  beneath 
scattered  pines  with  undergrowth  of  heather,  wild  lavender, 
gum-cistus,  juniper,  mastic  and  myrtle,  to  the  narrow 
white  beach  a  hundred  feet  below.  Little  paths  traverse 
the  rough  descent.  And  up  one  of  these,  halting  to  rest 
now  and  then  on  a  conveniently  placed  bench  in  the  shade 
of  some  spreading  umbrella  pine,  to  discourse  to  the  com- 
pany of  gentlemen  following  in  her  wake,  or  contemplate 
the  view,  came  a  notably  graceful  and  telling  figure. 

As  the  lady  advanced  with  leisurely  composure,  Damaris, 
gazing  down  from  her  point  of  vantage  in  the  first  floor 
window,  received  the  impression  of  a  person  almost  ex- 
travagantly finished  and  feminine,  in  which  all  irregulari- 
ties and  originalities  of  Nature  had  suffered  obliteration 
by  the  action  of  art.  Not  art  of  the  grosser  sort,  dependent 
on  dyes,  paint  and  cosmetics.  The  obliteration  was  not 
superficial  merely,  and  must  have  been  achieved  by 
processes  at  once  subtle  and  profound.  The  result  obtained, 
however,  showed  unquestionably  charming — if  in  a  line 
slightly  finical  and  exotic — as  she  picked  her  way  through 
the  fragrant  undergrowth  of  the  pine  wood,  slanting  sun- 
shine playing  on  her  dark  blue  raiment,  wide-brimmed 
white  hat,  and  floating  veil. 

Coming  completely  into  view  at  last,  when  stepping  from 
the  path  on  to  the  level  carriage  drive,  a  gold  chain  she 
wore,  from  which  dangled  a  little  bunch  of  trinkets  and 
a  long-handled  lorgnette,  glinted,  catching  the  light. 
Damaris  gave  an  exclamation  of  sudden  and  rapturous 
recognition.  So  far  she  had  had  eyes  for  the  lady 
only;  but  now  she  took  a  rapid  scrutiny  of  the  latter 's 
attendants.  With  two  of  them  she  was  unacquainted. 
The  other  two  were  her  father  and  Carteret. 

Whereupon  rapture  gave  place  to  a  pang  of  jealous 


220  DEADHAM  HARD 

alarm  and  resentment.  For  they  belonged  to  her,  those 
dear  two ;  and  to  see  them  even  thus  temporarily  appropri- 
ated by  someone  else  caused  her  surprising  agitation. 
They  had  been  so  good,  so  apparently  content,  alone  with 
her  upon  this  journey.  It  would  be  too  trying,  too  really 
intolerable  to  have  outsiders  interfere  and  break  up  their 
delightful  solitude  a  trois,  their  delightful  intercourse! 
Yet,  almost  immediately,  the  girl  flushed,  going  hot  all 
over  with  shame,  scolding  herself  for  even  passing  enter- 
tainment of  such  unworthy  and  selfish  emotions. 

"  For  it  is  Henrietta  Pereira,"  she  said  half  aloud. 
"  My  own  darling,  long-ago  Henrietta,  who  used  to  be  so 
beautifully  kind  to  me  and  give  me  presents  I  loved  above 
everything. ' ' 

And,  after  a  pause,  the  note  of  alarm  sounding  again 
though  modified  to  wistfulness 

' '  Will  she  care  for  me  still,  and  shall  I  still  care  for  her 
— but  I  must  care — I  must — now  I'm  grown  up?  " 

To  set  which  disturbing  questions  finally  at  rest,  being 
a  valiant  young  creature,  Damaris  permitted  herself  no 
second  thoughts,  no  vacillation  or  delay ;  but  went  straight 
downstairs  and  crossing  the  strip  of  terrace  garden,  bare- 
headed as  she  was,  waited  at  the  head  of  the  steps  leading 
up  from  the  carriage  drive  to  greet  the  idol  of  her  guile- 
lees  infancy. 

To  Colonel  Carteret  who,  bringing  up  the  rear  of  the 
little  procession  was  the  first  to  notice  her  advent,  she 
made  a  touching  and  gallant  picture.  Her  face  had  gone 
very  pale  and  he  saw,  or  fancied  he  saw,  her  lips  tremble. 
But  her  solemn  eyes  shone  with  a  steady  light,  and,  what- 
ever the  excitement  affecting  her,  she  held  it  bravely  in 
check.  Noting  all  which  he  could  not  but  speculate  as  to 
whether  she  had  any  knowledge  of  a  certain  romantic  at- 
tachment— culminating  on  the  one  hand  in  an  act  of  virtu- 
ous treachery,  on  the  other  in  an  act  of  renunciation — 
which  had  overshadowed  and  wrenched  from  its  natural 
sequence  so  large  a  portion  of  her  father's  life.  He 
earnestly  hoped  she  was  ignorant  of  all  that;  although 
the  act  of  renunciation,  made  for  her,  Damaris'  sake, 


THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  FOREST     221 

represented  a  magnificent  gesture  if  an  exaggerated  and 
almost  fanatical  one,  on  Charles  Verity 's  part.  It  gave  the 
measure  of  the  man's  fortitude,  the  measure  of  his  pa- 
ternal devotion.  Still  knowledge  of  it  might,  only  too 
readily,  prove  a  heavy  burden  to  a  young  girl's  imagina- 
tive and  tender  conscience.  Yes — he  hoped  she  had  been 
spared  that  knowledge. 

If  she  had  escaped  it  thus  far — as  he  reflected  not  with- 
out amusement — the  other  actor  in  that  rather  tragic 
drama,  now  so  unexpectedly  and  arrestingly  present  in  the 
flesh,  could  be  trusted  not  to  enlighten  her.  He  knew 
Henrietta  Pereira  of  old,  bless  her  hard  little  heart.  Not 
only  did  she  detest  tragedy,  but  positively  revelled  in 
any  situation  where  clever  avoidance  of  everything  even 
remotely  approaching  it  was  open  to  her.  She  ruled  the 
sublime  and  the  ridiculous  alike  impartially  out  of  the 
social  relation;  and  that  with  so  light  though  determined 
a  touch,  so  convincing  yet  astute  a  tact  and  delicacy,  you 
were  constrained  not  only  to  submit  to,  but  applaud  her 
strategy. 

Had  she  not  within  the  very  last  hour  given  a  masterly 
example  of  her  powers  in  this  line  ?  For  when  he,  Carteret, 
and  Charles  Verity,  strolling  in  all  innocence  along  the 
shore  path  back  from  St.  Augustin,  had  to  their  infinite 
astonishment  met  her  and  her  attendant  swains  face  to 
face,  she  hadn't  turned  a  hair.  Her  nerve  was  invincible. 
After  clasping  the  hand  of  each  in  turn  with  the  prettiest 
enthusiasm,  she  had  introduced — "  My  husband,  General 
Frayling — Mr.  Marshall  Wace,  his  cousin,"  with  the  ut- 
most composure.  Thus  making  over  to  them  any  awk- 
wardness which  might  be  going  and  effectually  ridding 
herself  of  it. 

Carteret  felt  his  jaw  drop  for  the  moment. — He  had 
heard  of  John  Pereira 's  death  two  years  ago,  and  welcomed 
the  news  on  her  account,  since,  if  report  said  true,  that 
dashing  cavalry  officer  had  taken  to  evil  courses.  Gam- 
bling and  liquor  made  him  a  nuisance,  not  to  say  disgrace 
to  his  regiment,  and  how  much  greater  a  one  to  his  wife. 


222  DEADHAM  HARD 

Poor  thing,  she  must  have  had  a  lot  to  endure  and  that 
of  the  most  sordid !  It  wasn't  nice  to  think  about.  Clearly 
Pereira's  removal  afforded  matter  for  thankfulness. 

But  of  this  speedy  reconstruction  on  her  part,  in  the 
shape  of  a  third  matrimonial  venture,  he  had  heard  never 
a  word.  How  would  Verity  take  it? — Apparently  with  a 
composure  as  complete  as  her  own. — And  then  the  inherent 
humour  of  the  position,  and  her  immense  skill  and  cool- 
ness in  the  treatment  of  it,  came  uppermost.  Carteret 
felt  bound  to  support  her  and  help  her  out  by  accepting 
her  little  old  General — lean-shanked  and  livery,  with 
pompously  outstanding  chest,  aggressive  white  moustache 
and  mild  appealing  eye — as  a  matter  of  course.  Bound 
to  buck  him  up,  and  encourage  him  in  the  belief  he  struck 
a  stranger  as  the  terrible  fellow  he  would  so  like  to  be,  and 
so  very  much  feared  that  he  wasn't.  Carteret 's  large 
charity  came  into  play  in  respect  of  the  superannuated 
warrior;  who  presented  a  pathetically  inadequate  effect, 
specially  when  seen,  as  now,  alongside  Charles  Verity. 
Surely  the  contrast  must  hit  the  fair  Henrietta  rather 
hard?  Carteret  expended  himself  in  kindly  civilities, 
therefore,  geing  so  far  as  to  say  "  sir  "  once  or  twice  in 
addressing  Frayling.  Whereat  the  latter 's  timorous  step 
grew  almost  jaunty  and  his  chest  more  than  ever  inflated. 

If  Henrietta  carried  things  off  to  admiration  in  the  first 
amazement  of  impact,  she  carried  them  off  equally  to  ad- 
miration in  her  meeting  with  Damaris.  It  was  the  pret- 
tiest little  scene-  in  the  world. 

For  reaching  up  and  placing  her  hands  on  the  girl's 
shoulders  her  chiselled  face — distinct  yet  fragile  in  outline 
as  some  rare  cameo — suffused  for  once  with  transparent, 
shell-like  pink,  she  kissed  Damaris  on  either  cheek. 

"  Ah!  precious  child,  most  precious  child,"  she  fondly 
murmured.  "  What  an  enchanting  surprise!  How  little 
I  imagined  such  a  joy  was  in  store  for  me  when  I  came 
out  this  afternoon!  " 

And  louder,  for  the  benefit  of  the  assistants. 

"  Yes — here  are  my  husband,  General  Frayling,  and 
Mr.  Wace  his  cousin — he  shall  sing  to  you  some  day — 


THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  FOREST     223 

that  by  the  way — who  is  travelling  with  us.  But  they  must 
talk  to  you  later.  I  can't  spare  you  to  them  now.  I  am 
greedy  after  our  long  separation  and  want  to  have  you 
all  to  myself." 

And,  including  the  four  gentlemen  in  a  gesture  of 
friendly  farewell,  she  put  her  arm  round  Damaris'  waist, 
gently  compelling  her  in  the  direction  of  a  group  of  buff- 
painted  iron  chairs,  placed  in  a  semicircle  in  the  shade  of 
ilex  and  pine  trees  at  the  end  of  the  terrace. 

"  I  have  so  much  to  hear,"  she  said,  "  so  many  dropped 
threads  to  pick  up,  and  it  is  impossible  to  talk  comfortably 
and  confidentially  in  a  crowd.  Our  men  must  really  con- 
trive to  play  about  by  themselves  for  a  little  while  and 
leave  me  to  enjoy  you  in  peace." 

"  But  won't  they  mind?  "  Damaris  asked,  upon  whom 
the  spell  of  the  elder  woman's  personality  began  sensibly 
to  work. 

"  Let  them  mind,  let  them  mind,"  she  threw  off  airily 
in  answer.  "  So  much  the  better.  It  will  do  them  good. 
It  is  excellent  discipline  for  men  to  find  they  can't  always 
have  exactly  their  own  way." 

Which  assertion  served  to  dissipate  any  last  remnant  of 
jealous  alarm  Damaris'  mind  may  have  unconsciously 
harboured.  In  its  place  shy  curiosity  blossomed,  and 
quick  intimate  pleasure  in  so  perfectly  fashioned  and 
furnished  a  creature.  For  wasn't  her  childish  adoration 
fully  justified?  Wasn't  her  darling  Henrietta  a  being 
altogether  captivating  and  unique?  Damaris  loved  the 
feeling  of  that  arm  and  hand  lightly  clasping  her  waist. 
Loved  the  faint  fragrance — hadn't  it  intoxicated  her  baby 
senses? — pervading  Henrietta's  hair,  her  clothes,  her  whole 
pretty  person.  Loved  the  tinkle  of  the  bunch  of  trinkets 
dangling  from  the  long  chain  which  reached  below  her 
waist.  She  had  feared  disappointment.  That,  as  she  now 
perceived,  was  altogether  superfluous.  Henrietta  en- 
thralled her  eyes,  enthralled  her  affection.  She  longed  to 
protect,  to  serve  her,  to  stand  between  her  and  every  rough 
wind  which  blew,  because  she  was  so  pretty,  so  extraordi- 
narily and  completely  civilized  from  head  to  foot. 


224  DEADHAM  HARD 

No  doubt  in  the  generosity  of  her  youthful  inexperience 
Damaris  exaggerated  the  lady's  personal  charm.  Yet  the 
dozen  years  intervening — since  their  last  meeting — had,  in 
truth,  dealt  mercifully  with  the  latter 's  good  looks.  A 
trifle  pinched,  a  trifle  faded  she  might  be,  as  compared  with 
the  Henrietta  of  twelve  years  ago;  but  immediately  such 
damage,  such  wear  and  tear  of  the  fleshly  garment,  showed 
at  its  least  conspicuous.  She  negotiated  the  double  en- 
counter, as  Carteret  had  noted,  with  admirable  sang-froid ; 
but  not,  as  to  the  first  one  in  any  case,  without  considerably 
greater  inward  commotion  than  he  gave  her  credit  for. 
She  was  in  fact  keyed  up  by  it,  excited,  taken  out  of 
herself  to  an  unprecedented  extent,  her  native  optimism 
and  egoism  in  singular  disarray.  Yet  thereby,  through 
that  very  excitement,  she  recaptured  for  the  time  being 
the  physical  loveliness  of  an  earlier  period.  Beauty  is 
very  much  a  matter  of  circulation;  and  the  blood  can- 
tered, not  to  say  galloped,  through  Henrietta's  veins. 

The  sight  of  Charles  Verity  did  indeed  put  back  the 
clock  for  her  in  most  astounding  sort.  Henrietta  was  no 
victim  of  impulse.  Each  of  her  three  marriages  had  been 
dictated  by  convenience,  carefully  thought  out  and  cal- 
culated. Over  neither  husband  had  she,  for  ever  so  brief 
a  period,  lost  her  head.  But  over  Charles  Verity  she  had 
come  perilously  near  losing  it — once.  That,  it  is  not  too 
much  to  say,  constituted  the  greatest  sensation,  the  greatest 
emotion  of  her  experience.  As  a  rule  the  most  trying  and 
embarrassing  part  of  encountering  a  former  lover  is  that 
you  wonder  what,  under  Heaven,  induced  you  to  like  him 
so  well  ?  Here  the  position  was  reversed,  so  that  Henrietta 
wondered — with  a  sickening  little  contraction  of  the  heart 
— what,  under  Heaven,  had  prevented  her  liking  him  much 
more,  why,  under  Heaven,  she  ever  let  him  go  ?  Of  course, 
as  things  turned  out,  it  was  all  for  the  best,  since  her  in- 
sensibility made  for  righteousness,  or  anyhow  for  respecta- 
bility— in  the  opinion  of  the  world  the  same,  if  not  an 
even  superior  article.  She  ought  to  congratulate  herself, 
ought  to  feel  thankful.  Only  just  now  she  didn't.  On 
the  contrary  she  was  shaken — consciously  and  most  un- 


THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  FOREST     225 

comfortably  shaken  to  the  very  deepest  of  such  depths 
as  her  shallow  soul  could  boast — sitting  here,  on  a  buff- 
painted  chair  in  the  shade  of  the  pines  and  ilex  trees,  in 
company  with  Damaris,  holding  the  girl's  hand  in  both 
her  own  with  a  clinging,  slightly  insistent,  pressure  as  it 
rested  upon  her  lap. 

"  Dearest  child,  I  believe,  though  you  have  grown  so 
tall,  I  should  have  recognized  you  anywhere,"  she  said. 

"  And  I  you,"  Damaris  echoed.  "  I  did,  I  did,  after 
just  the  first  little  minute." 

"  Ah!  you've  a  memory  for  faces  too?  " 

Her  glance  wandered  to  the  group  of  men  gathered  be- 
fore the  hotel  portico — Sir  Charles  and  General  Frayling 
side  by  side,  engaged  in  civil  if  not  particularly  animated 
conversation.  The  two  voices  reached  her  with  a 
singular  difference  of  timbre  and  of  tone.  Carteret  spoke, 
apparently  making  some  proposition,  some  invitation,  in 
response  to  which  the  four  passed  into  the  house. 

Henrietta  settled  herself  in  her  chair  with  a  movement 
of  sensible  relief.  While  they  remained  there  she  must 
look,  and  it  was  not  quite  healthy  to  look. — Her  good,  little, 
old  General,  who  only  asked  respectfully  to  adore  and 
follow  in  her  wake — a  man  of  few  demands  and  quite  tidy 
fortune — and  after  poor,  besotted,  blustering,  gambling, 
squashily  sentimental  and  tearful  Johnnie  Pereira  wasn't 
he  a  haven  of  rest — oh,  positively  a  haven  of  rest?  All 
the  same  she  preferred  his  not  standing  there  in  juxtapo- 
sition to  Charles  Verity.  She  much  preferred  their  all 
going  indoors — Carteret  along  with  the  rest,  if  it  came  to 
that. 

She  turned  and  smiled  upon  Damaris. 

"  However  good  your  memory  for  faces  may  be,  I  find  it 
very  sweet  you  should  have  recognized  mine  after  '  just 
the  first  little  minute,'  "  she  said,  with  a  coaxing  touch  of 
mimicry.  "  You  haven't  quite  parted  company  with  the 
baby  I  remember  so  well,  even  yet.  I  used  to  call  you  my 
downy  owl,  with  solemn  saucer  eyes  and  fierce  little  beak. 
You  were  extraordinarily,  really  perplexingly  like  your 
father  then.  A  miniature  edition,  but  so  faithful  to  the 


226  DEADHAM  HARD 

original  it  used,  sometimes,  to  give  me  the  quaintest  jump." 

Henrietta  mused,  raising  one  hand  and  fingering  the 
lace  at  her  throat  as  seeking  to  loosen  it.  Damaris  watched 
fascinated,  in  a  way  troubled,  by  her  extreme  prettiness. 
Every  point,  every  detail  was  so  engagingly  complete. 

"  You  are  like  Sir  Charles  still;  but  I  see  something 
which  is  not  him — the  personal  equation,  I  suppose,  de- 
veloping in  you,  the  element  which  is  individual,  exclu- 
sively your  own  and  yourself.  I  should  enjoy  exploring 
that." 

She  looked  at  Damaris  very  brightly  for  an  instant,  then 
looked  down. 

"  I  want  to  hear  more  about  Sir  Charles,"  she  said. 
"Of  all  the  distinguished  men  I  have  been  fortunate 
enough  to  know,  who — who  have  let  me  be  their  friend, 
no  one  has  ever  interested  me  more  than  he.  We  have 
known  one  another  ever  since  I  was  a  girl  and  his  career 
meant  so  much  to  me.  I  followed  it  closely,  rejoiced  in  his 
promotion,  his  successes;  felt  indignant — and  said  so — 
when  he  met  with  adverse  criticism.  I  am  speaking  of  his 
Indian  career.  When  he  accepted  that  Afghan  command, 
it  made  a  break.  We  lost  touch,  which  I  regretted  im- 
mensely. From  that  time  onward  I  only  knew  what  any 
and  everybody  might  know  from  the  newspapers — except 
occasionally  when  I  happened  to  meet  Colonel  Carteret." 

The  explanation  was  lengthy,  laboured,  not  altogether 
spontaneous.  Damaris  vaguely  mystified  by  it  made  no 
comment.  Henrietta  raised  her  head,  glancing  round  from 
under  lowered  eyelids. 

"  You  appreciate  the  ever-faithful  Carteret?  "  she  asked, 
an  edge  of  eagerness  in  her  voice. 

"  The  dear  '  man  with  the  blue  eyes?  '  Of  course  I  love 
him,  we  both  love  him  almost  better  than  anybody  in  the 
world,"  Damaris  warmly  declared. 

"  And  he  manifestly  returns  your  affection.  But,  dear- 
est child,  why  '  almost.'  Is  that  reservation  intentional 
or  merely  accidental?  " 

Then  seeing  the  girl's  colour  rise. 

"  Perhaps  it's  hardly  a  fair  question.    Forgive  me.    I 


THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  FOREST     227 

forgot  how  long  it  is  since  we  met,  forgot  I'm  not,  after 
all,  talking  to  the  precious  little  downy  owl,  who  had  no 
more  serious  secrets  than  such  as  might  concern  her  large 
family  of  dolls." 

"  I  am  not  sure  the  '  almost  '  was  quite  true."  Damaris 
put  in  hastily,  her  cheeks  more  than  ever  aflame. 

"  Yes  it  was,  most  delicious  child — I  protest  it  was. 
And  I'm  not  sure  I'm  altogether  sorry." 

Slightly,  daintily,  she  kissed  the  flaming  cheek. 

"  But  I  do  love  Colonel  Carteret,"  Damaris  repeated, 
with  much  wide-eyed  earnestness.  "  I  trust  him  and  de- 
pend on  him  as  I  do  on  nobody  else." 

"  '  Almost  '  nobody  else?  " 

Damaris  shook  her  head.  She  felt  a  wee  bit  disappointed 
in  Henrietta.  This  persistence  displeased  her  as  trivial, 
as  lacking  in  perfection  of  breeding  and  taste. 

"  Quite  nobody,"  she  said.  And  without  permitting 
time  for  rejoinder  launched  forth  into  the  subject  of  the 
book  on  the  campaigns  of  Shere  Ali,  which,  as  she  ex- 
plained, had  been  undertaken  at  Carteret 's  suggestion  and 
with  such  encouraging  result.  She  waxed  eloquent  regard- 
ing the  progress  of  the  volume  and  its  high  literary  worth. 

"  But  I  was  a  little  nervous  lest  my  father  should  lose 
his  interest  and  grow  slack  when  we  were  alone,  and 
he'd  only  me  to  talk  things  over  with  and  to  consult,  so 
I  begged  Colonel  Carteret  to  come  abroad  with  us." 

' '  Ah !  I  see — quite  so, ' '  Henrietta  murmured.  ' '  It  was 
at  your  request. ' ' 

"  Yes.  He  was  beautifully  kind,  as  he  always  is.  He 
agreed  at  once,  gave  up  all  his  own.  plans  and 
came. ' ' 

"  And  stays  " — Henrietta  said. 

"  Yes,  for  the  present.  But  to  tell  the  truth  I'm 
worried  about  his  staying." 

"  Why?  " — again  with  a  just  perceptible  edge  of  eager- 
ness. 

"  Because,  of  course,  I  have  no  right  to  trade  on  his 
kindness,  even  for  my  father's  sake  or  the  sake  of  the 
book." 


228  DEADHAM  HARD 

"  And  that  is  your  only  reason?  " 

"  Isn't  it  more  than  reason  enough?  There  must  be 
other  people  who  want  him  and  things  of  his  own  he  wants 
to  do.  It  would  be  odiously  selfish  of  me  to  interfere  by 
keeping  him  tied  here.  I  have  wondered  lately  whether  I 
oughtn't  to  speak  to  him  about  it  and  urge  his  going  home. 
I  was  worrying  rather  over  that  when  you  arrived  this 
afternoon,  and  then  the  gladness  of  seeing  you  put  it  out 
of  my  head.  But  how  I  wish  you  would  advise  me, 
Henrietta,  if  it's  not  troubling  you  too  much.  You  and 
they  have  been  friends  so  long  and  you  must  know  so 
much  better  than  I  can  what's  right.  Tell  me  what  is 
my  duty — about  his  staying,  I  mean — to,  to  them  both,  do 
you  think?  " 

Henrietta  Frayling  did  not  answer  at  once.  Her  deli- 
cate features  perceptibly  sharpened  and  hardened,  her  lips 
becoming  thin  as  a  thread. 

"  You're  not  vexed  with  me?  I  haven't  been  tiresome 
and  asked  you  something  I  shouldn't?  "  Damaris  softly 
exclaimed,  smitten  with  alarm  of  unintended  and  uncon- 
scious offence. 

"  No — no — but  you  put  a  difficult  question,  since  I  have 
only  impressions  and  those  of  the  most  fugitive  to  guide 
me.  Personally,  I  am  always  inclined  to  leave  well  alone. ' ' 

"  But  is  this  well?— There's  just  the  point." 

"  You  are  very  anxious  " 

"  Yes,  I  am  very  anxious.  You  see  I  care  dreadfully 
much." 

Henrietta  bent  down,  giving  her  attention  to  an  inch 
of  kilted  silk  petticoat,  showing  where  it  should  not, 
beneath  the  hem  of  her  blue  skirt. 

"  I  hesitate  to  give  you  advice;  but  I  can  give  you  my 
impressions — for  what  they  may  be  worth.  Seeing  Colonel 
Carteret  this  afternoon  he  struck  me  as  being  in  excellent 
case — enviably  young  for  his  years  and  content." 

"  You  thought  so?  Yet  that's  just  what  has  worried 
me.  Once  or  twice  lately  I  have  not  been  sure  he  was 
quite  content." 

' '  Oh !  you  put  it  too  high !  ' '  Henrietta  threw  off.    ' '  Can 


THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  FOREST     229 

«ne  ever  be  sure  anyone — even  one 's  own  poor  self — is  quite 
content?  " 

And  she  looked  round,  bringing  the  whole  artillery  of 
her  still  great,  if  waning,  loveliness  suddenly  to  bear  upon 
Damaris,  dazzling,  charming,  confusing  her,  as  she  said: 

"  My  precious  child,  has  it  never  occurred  to  you 
Colonel  Carteret  may  stay  on,  not  against  his  will,  but 
rery  much  with  it?  Or  occurred  to  you,  further,  not  only 
that  the  pleasures  of  your  father's  society  are  by  no  means 
to  be  despised;  but  that  you  yourself  are  a  rather  re- 
markable product — as  quaintly  engagingly  clever,  as  you 
are — well — shall  we  say — handsome,  Damaris?  " 

"  I  am  deputed  to  enquire  whether  you  propose  to  take 
tea  indoors,  Miss  Verity,  or  have  it  brought  to  you  here; 
and,  in  the  latter  case,  whether  we  have  leave  to  join 
you?  " 

The  speaker,  Marshall  Wace — a  young  man  of  about 
thirty  years  of  age — may  be  described  as  soft  in  make,  in 
colouring  slightly  hectic,  in  manner  a  subtle  cross  between 
the  theatrical  and  the  parsonic.  Which,  let  it  be  added,  is 
by  no  means  to  condemn  him  wholesale,  laugh  him  off  the 
stage  or  out  of  the  pulpit.  In  certain  circles,  indeed,  these 
traits,  this  blend,  won  for  him  unstinted  sympathy  and 
approval.  He  possessed  talents  in  plenty,  and  these  of 
an  order  peculiarly  attractive  to  the  amateur  because  tenta- 
tive rather  than  commanding.  Among  his  intimates  he 
was  seen  and  spoken  of  as  one  cloaked  with  the  pathos  of 
thwarted  aspirations.  Better  health,  less  meagre  private 
means  and  a  backing  of  influence,  what  might  he  not  have 
done?  His  star  might  have  flamed  to  the  zenith!  Mean- 
while it  was  a  privilege  to  help  him,  to  such  extent  as  his 
extreme  delicacy  of  feeling  permitted.  That  it  really 
permitted  a  good  deal,  one  way  or  another,  displaying  con- 
siderable docility  under  the  infliction  of  benefits,  would 
have  been  coarse  to  perceive  and  unpardonably  brutal  to 
mention. — Such,  anyhow,  was  the  opinion  held  by  his 
cousin,  General  Frayling,  at  whose  expense  he  now  en- 
joyed a  recuperative  sojourn  upon  the  French  Riviera. 
Some  people,  in  short,  have  a  gift  of  imposing  themselves, 


230  DEADHAM  HARD 

and  Marshall  Wace  may  be  counted  among  that  con- 
veniently endowed  band. 

He  imposed  himself  now  upon  one  at  least  of  his  hearers. 
For,  though  the  address  might  seem  studied,  the  voice 
delivering  it  was  agreeable,  causing  Damaris,  for  the  first 
time,  consciously  to  notice  this  member  of  Mrs.  Frayling's 
retinue.  She  felt  amiably  disposed  towards  him  since  his 
intrusion  closed  a  conversation  causing  her  no  little  dis- 
turbance of  mind.  Henrietta's  last  speech,  in  particular, 
set  her  nerves  tingling  with  most  conflicting  emotions.  If 
Henrietta  so  praised  her  that  praise  must  be  deserved,  for 
who  could  be  better  qualified  to  give  judgment  on  such  a 
subject  than  the  perfectly  equipped  Henrietta?  Yet  she 
shrank  in  distaste,  touched  in  her  maiden  modesty  and 
pride,  from  so  frank  an  exposition  of  her  own  charms.  It 
made  her  feel  unclothed,  stripped  in  the  market-place — 
so  to  speak — and  shamed.  Secretly  she  had  always  hoped 
she  was  pretty  rather  than  plain.  She  loved  beauty  and 
therefore  naturally  desired  to  possess  it.  But  to  have  the 
fact  of  that  possession  thus  baldly  stated  was  another 
matter.  It  made  her  feel  unnatural,  as  though  joined  to  a 
creature  with  whom  she  was  insufficiently  acquainted, 
whose  ways  might  not  be  her  ways  or  its  thoughts  her 
thoughts.  Therefore  the  young  man,  Marshall  Wace,  com- 
ing as  a  seasonable  diversion  from  these  extremely  per- 
sonal piercings  and  probings,  found  greater  favour  in  her 
eyes  than  he  otherwise  might.  And  this  with  results,  for 
Damaris'  gratitude,  once  engaged,  disdained  to  criticize, 
invariably  tending  to  err  on  the  super-generous  side. 

Yes,  they  would  all  have  tea  out  here,  if  Henrietta  was 
willing.  And,  if  Henrietta  would  for  the  moment  excuse 
her,  she  would  go  and  order  Hordle — her  father's  man — 
to  see  to  the  preparation  of  it  himself.  Foreign  waiters, 
whatever  their  ability  in  other  departments,  have  no 
natural  understanding  of  a  teapot  and  are  liable  to  the 
weirdest  ideas  of  cutting  bread  and  butter. 

With  which,  conscious  she  was  guilty  of  somewhat  inco- 
herent chatter,  Damaris  sprang  up  and  swung  away  along 


THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  FOREST     231 

the  terrace,  through  the  clear  tonic  radiance,  buoyant  as  a 
caged  bird  set  free. 

"  Go  with  her,  Marshall,  go  with  her,"  Mrs.  Frayling 
imperatively  bade  him. 

"  And  leave  you,  Cousin  Henrietta?  " 

She  rose  with  a  petulant  gesture. 

"  Yes,  go  at  once  or  you  won't  overtake  her.  I  am  tired, 
really  wretchedly  tired — and  am  best  left  alone." 


CHAPTER  III 

WHICH  CONCERNS  ITSELF,  INCIDENTALLY,  WITH  THE  GRIEF 
OF  A  VICTIM  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE  AND  THE  RECEPTION  OF 
A  BELATED  CHRISTMAS  GREETING 

HENRIETTA  FRAYLING  left  the  Grand  Hotel, 
that  afternoon,  in  a  chastened  frame  of  mind.  Mis- 
givings oppressed  her.  She  doubted — and  even  more 
than  doubted — whether  she  had  risen  to  the  full  height  of 
her  own  reputation,  whether  she  had  not  allowed  oppor- 
tunity to  elude  her,  whether  she  had  not  lost  ground  diffi- 
cult to  regain.  The  affair  was  so  astonishingly  sprung 
upon  her.  The  initial  impact  she  withstood  unbroken — 
and  from  this  she  derived  a  measure  of  consolation.  But 
afterwards  she  weakened.  She  had  felt  too  much — and 
that  proved  her  undoing.  It  is  foolish,  because  disabling, 
to  feel. 

Her  treatment  of  Damaris  she  condemned  as  mistaken, 
admitting  a  point  of  temper.  It  is  hard  to  forgive  the 
younger  generation  their  youth,  the  infinite  attraction 
of  their  ingenuous  freshness,  the  fact  that  they  have  the 
ball  at  their  feet.  Hence  she  avoided  the  society  of  the 
young  of  her  own  sex — as  a  rule.  Girls  are  trying  when 
pretty  and  intelligent,  hardly  less  trying — though  for 
other  reasons — when  the  reverse.  Boys  she  tolerated.  In 
the  eyes  of  young  men  she  sunned  herself  taking  her  ease, 
since  these  are  slow  to  criticize,  swift  to  believe — between 
eighteen  and  eight-and-twenty,  that  is. — We  speak  of  the 
mid- Victorian  era  and  then  obtaining  masculine  strain. 

Misgivings  continued  to  pursue  her  during  the  ensu- 
ing evening  and  even  interfered  with  her  slumbers  during 
the  night.  This — most  unusual  occurrence — rendered  her 
fretful.  She  reproached  her  tractable  and  distressed  little 
General  with  having  encouraged  her  to  walk  much  too 

282 


THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  FOREST     233 

far.  In  future  he  swore  to  insist  on  the  carriage,  however 
confidently  she  might  assert  the  need  of  active  exertion. 
She  pointed  out  the  fallacy  of  rushing  to  extremes ;  which 
rather  cruelly  floored  him,  since  "  rushing,"  in  any  shape 
or  form,  had  conspicuously  passed  out  of  his  programme 
some  considerable  time  ago. 

"  My  wife  is  not  at  all  herself,"  he  told  Marshall  Wace, 
at  breakfast  next  morning — ' '  quite  overdone,  I  am  sorry 
to  say,  and  upset.  I  blame  myself.  I  must  keep  a  tight 
hand  on  her  and  forbid  over  exertion." 

With  a  small  spoon,  savagely,  daringly,  ke  beat  in  the 
top  of  his  boiled  egg. 

"  I  must  be  more  watchful,"  he  added.  "  Her  nervous 
energy  is  deceptive.  I  must  refuse  to  let  it  override  my 
better  judgment  and  take  me  in." 

By  luncheon  time,  however,  Henrietta  was  altogether 
herself,  save  for  a  pretty  pensiveness,  and  emerged  with 
all  her  accustomed  amiability  from  this  temporary  eclipse. 

The  Fraylings  occupied  a  small  detached  villa,  built 
in  the  grounds  of  the  Hotel  de  la  Plage — a  rival  and 
venerably  senior  establishment  to  the  Grand  Hotel — situ- 
ate just  within  the  confines  of  St.  Augustin,  where  the 
town  curves  along  the  glistering  shore  to  the  western  horn 
of  the  little  bay.  At  the  back  of  it  runs  the  historic  high 
road  from  Marseilles  to  the  Italian  frontier,  passing 
through  Cannes  and  Nice.  Behind  it,  too,  runs  the  rail- 
way with  its  many  tunnels,  following  the  same,  though  a 
somewhat  less  serpentine,  course  along  the  gracious  coast. 

To  the  ex-Anglo-Indian  woman,  society  is  as  imperative 
a  necessity  as  water  to  a  fish.  She  must  foregather  or  life 
loses  all  its  savour;  must  entertain,  be  entertained,  rub 
shoulders  generally  or  she  is  lost.  Henrietta  Frayling 
suffered  the  accustomed  fate,  though  to  speak  of  rubbing 
shoulders  in  connection  with  her  is  to  express  oneself  in- 
correctly to  the  verge  of  grossness.  Her  shoulders  were 
of  an  order  far  too  refined  to  rub  or  be  rubbed.  Neverthe- 
less, after  the  shortest  interval  consistent  with  self-respect, 
such  society  as  St.  Augustin  and  its  neighbourhood  af- 
forded found  itself  enmeshed  in  her  dainty  net.  Mrs. 


234  DEADHAM  HARD 

Frayling's  villa  became  a  centre,  where  all  English-speak- 
ing persons  met.  There  she  queened  it,  with  her  General 
as  loyal  henchman,  and  Marshall  Wace  as  a  professor  of 
drawing-room  talents  of  most  varied  sort. 

Discovery  of  the  party  at  the  Grand  Hotel,  took  the  gilt 
off  the  gingerbread  of  such  queenings,  to  a  marked  extent, 
making  them  look  make-shifty,  lamentably  second-rate  and 
cheap.  Hence  Henrietta's  fretfulness  in  part.  For  with 
the  exception  of  Lady  Hermione  Twells — widow  of  a  once 
Colonial  Governor — and  the  Honourable  Mrs.  Callowgas 
nee  de  Brett,  relict  of  a  former  Bishop  of  Harchester, 
they  were  but  scratch  pack  these  local  guests  of  hers. 
Soon,  however,  a  scheme  of  putting  that  discovery  to  use 
broke  in  on  her  musings.  The  old  friendship  must,  she 
feared,  be  counted  dead.  General  Frayling's  existence,  in 
the  capacity  of  husband,  rendered  any  resurrection  of  it  im- 
practicable. She  recognized  that.  Yet  exhibition  of  its 
tombstone,  were  such  exhibition  compassable,  could  not 
fail  to  bring  her  honour  and  respect.  She  would  shine  by 
a  reflected  light,  her  glory  all  the  greater  that  the  wit- 
nesses of  it  were  themselves  obscure — Lady  Hermione  and 
Mrs.  Callowgas  excepted  of  course.  Carteret's  good-nature 
could  be  counted  on  to  bring  him  to  the  villa.  And 
Damaris  must  be  annexed.  Assuming  the  role  and  attitude 
of  a  vicarious  motherhood,  Henrietta  herself  could  hardly 
fail  to  gain  distinction.  It  was  a  touching  part — specially 
when  played  by  a  childless  woman  only  a  little — yes,  really 
only  quite  a  little — past  her  prime. 

Here,  indeed,  was  a  great  idea,  as  she  came  to  grasp  the 
possibilities  and  scope  of  it.  As  chaperon  to  Damaris  how 
many  desirable  doors  would  be  open  to  her!  Delicately 
Henrietta  hugged  herself  perceiving  that,  other  things 
being  equal,  her  own  career  was  by  no  means  ended  yet. 
Through  Damaris  might  she  not  very  well  enter  upon  a 
fresh  and  effective  phase  of  it?  How  often  and  how  rue- 
fully had  she  revolved  the  problem  of  advancing  age, 
questioning  how  gracefully  to  confront  that  dreaded  enemy, 
and  endure  its  rather  terrible  imposition  of  hands  with- 
out too  glaring  a  loss  of  prestige  and  popularity!  Might 


THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  FOREST     235 

not  Damaris'  childish  infatuation  offer  a  solution  of  that 
haunting  problem,  always  supposing  the  infatuation  could 
be  revived,  be  recreated? 

Ah!  what  a  double-dyed  idiot  she  had  been  yesterday, 
in  permitting  feeling  to  outrun  judgment! — With  the 
liveliest  satisfaction  Henrietta  could  have  boxed  her  own 
pretty  ears  in  punishment  of  her  passing  weakness. — Yet 
surely  time  still  remained  wherein  to  retrieve  her  error 
and  restore  her  ascendency.  Damaris  might  be  unusually 
clever;  but  she  was  also  finely  inexperienced,  malleable, 
open  to  influence  as  yet.  Let  Henrietta  then  see  to  it, 
and  that  without  delay  or  hesitation,  bringing  to  bear 
every  ingenious  social  art,  and — if  necessary — artifice,  in 
which  long  practice  had  made  her  proficient. 

To  begin  with  she  would  humble  herself  by  writing  a 
sweet  little  letter  to  Damaris.  In  it  she  would  both  accuse 
and  excuse  her  maladroitness  of  yesterday,  pleading  the 
shock  of  so  unlooked-for  a  coming  together  and  the  host 
of  memories  evoked  by  it. — Would  urge  how  deeply  it 
affected  her,  overcame  her  in  fact,  rendering  her  incapable 
of  saying  half  the  affectionate  things  it  was  in  her  heart 
to  say.  She  might  touch  on  the  subject  of  Damaris' 
personal  appearance  again;  which,  by  literally  taking  her 
breath  away,  had  contributed  to  her  general  undoing. — 
On  second  thoughts,  however,  she  decided  it  would  be 
politic  to  avoid  that  particular  topic,  since  Damaris  was 
evidently  a  little  shy  in  respect  of  her  own  beauty. — 
Henrietta  smiled  to  herself. — That  is  a  form  of  shyness 
exceedingly  juvenile,  shortlived  enough! 

Marshall  should  act  as  her  messenger,  she  being— as  she 
could  truthfully  aver — eager  her  missive  might  reach  its 
destination  with  all  possible  despatch.  A  letter,  moreover, 
delivered  by  hand  takes  on  an  importance,  makes  a  claim 
on  the  attention,  greater  than  that  of  one  received  by  post. 
There  is  a  personal  gesture  in  the  former  mode  of  trans- 
mission by  no  means  to  be  despised  in  delicate  operations 
such  as  the  present — "  I  want  to  set  myself  right  with 
you  at  once,  dearest  child,  in  case,  as  I  fear,  you  may  have 
a  little  misunderstood  me  yesterday.  Accident  having  so 


236  DEADHAM  HARD 

strangely  restored  us  to  one  another,  I  long  to  hold  you 
closely  if  you  will  let  me  do  so." — Yes,  it  should  run 
thus,  the  theme  embroidered  with  high-flashing  colour  of 
Eastern  reminiscence — the  great  subtropic  garden  of  the 
Sultan-i-bagh,  for  example,  its  palms,  orange  grove  and 
lotus  tank,  the  call  of  the  green  parrots,  chant  of  the 
well-coollie  and  creak  of  the  primitive  wooden  gearing,  as 
the  yoke  of  cream  white  oxen  trotted  down  and  laboriously 
backed  up  the  walled  slope  to  the  well-head. 

Mrs.  Frayling  set  herself  to  produce  a  very  pretty  piece 
of  sentiment,  nicely  turned^  decorated,  worded,  and  suc- 
ceeded to  her  own  satisfaction.  Might  not  she  too,  at 
this  rate,  claim  possession  of  the  literary  gift — under 
stress  of  circumstance?  The  idea  was  a  new  one.  It 
amused  her. 

And  what  if  Damaris  elected  to  show  this  precious  effu- 
sion to  her  father,  Sir  Charles?  Well,  if  the  girl  did,  she 
did.  It  might  just  conceivably  work  on  him  also,  to  the 
restoration  of  past — infatuation  ? — Henrietta  left  the  exact 
term  in  doubt.  But  her  hope  of  such  result  was  of  the 
smallest.  Exhibition  of  a  tombstone  was  the  most  she 
could  count  upon. — More  probably  he  would  regard  it 
critically,  cynically,  putting  his  finger  through  her  specious 
phrases.  She  doubted  his  forgiveness  of  a  certain  act  of 
virtuous  treachery  even  yet ;  although  he  had,  in  a  measure, 
condoned  her  commission  of  it  by  making  use  of  her  on 
one  occasion  since,  namely,  that  of  her  bringing  Damaris 
back  twelve  years  ago  to  Europe.  But  whether  his  atti- 
tude were  cynical  or  not,  he  would  hold  his  peace.  Such 
cogent  reasons  existed  for  silence  on  his  part  that  if  he 
did  slightly  distrust  her,  hold  her  a  little  cheap,  he  would 
hardly  venture  to  say  as  much,  least  of  all  to  Damaris. — 
Venture  or  condescend? — Again  Mrs.  Frayling  left  the 
term  in  doubt  and  went  forward  with  her  schemes,  which 
did,  unquestionably  just  now,  add  a  pleasing  zest  to  life. 

The  innocent  subject  of  these  machinations  received  both 
the  note  and  its  bearer  in  a  friendly  spirit,  though  she 
was  already,  as  it  happened,  rich  in  letters  to-day.  The 
bi-weekly  packet  from  Deadham — addressed  in  Mary 


THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  FOREST     237 

Fisher's  careful  copy-book  hand — arrived  at  luncheon 
time,  and  contained,  among  much  of  apparently  lesser 
interest,  a  diverting  chronicle  of  Tom  Verity's  impressions 
and  experiences  during  the  first  six  weeks  of  his  Indian 
sojourn.  The  young  man 's  gaily  self-confident  humour  had 
survived  his  transplantation.  He  wrote  in  high  feather, 
quite  unabashed  by  the  novelty  of  his  surroundings,  yet 
not  forgetting  to  pay  honour  where  honour  was  due. 

"  It  has  been  '  roses,  roses  all  the  way  '  thanks  to  Sir 
Charles's  introductions,  for  which  I  can  never  be  suffi- 
ciently grateful,"  he  told  her.  "  They  have  procured  me 
no  end  of  delightful  hospitality  from  the  great  ones  of  the 
local  earth,  and  really  priceless  opportunities  of  getting 
into  touch  with  questions  of  ruling  importance  over  here. 
I  am  letting  my  people  at  home  know  how  very  much  I 
owe,  and  always  shall  owe,  to  his  kindness  in  using  his 
influence  on  my  behalf  at  the  start." 

Damaris  glowed  responsive  to  this  fine  flourish  of  a  tone, 
and  passed  the  letter  across  the  small  round  dinner  table 
to  her  father.  Opened  a  fat  packet,  enclosed  in  an  enve- 
lope of  exaggerated  tenuity,  from  Miss  Felicia,  only  to 
put  it  aside  in  favour  of  another  letter  bearing  an  Italian 
stamp  and  directed  in  a,  to  her,  unfamiliar  hand. 

This  was  modest  in  bulk  as  compared  with  Miss  Felicia 's  ; 
but  while  examining  it,  while  touching  it  even,  Damaris 
became  aware  of  an  inward  excitement,  of  a  movement  of 
tenderness  not  to  be  ignored  or  denied. 

Startled  by  her  own  prescience,  and  the  agitation  ac- 
companying it,  she  looked  up  quickly  to  find  Carteret 
watching  her;  whereupon,  mutely,  instinctively,  her  eyes 
besought  him  to  ask  no  questions,  make  no  comment.  For 
an  appreciable  space  he  kept  her  in  suspense,  his  glance 
holding  and  challenging  hers  in  close  observation.  Then 
as  though,  not  without  a  measure  of  struggle,  granting  her 
request,  he  smiled  at  her,  and,  turning  his  attention  to  the 
contents  of  his  plate,  quietly  went  on  with  the  business 
of  luncheon.  Damaris  meanwhile,  conscience-stricken — 
she  couldn't  tell  why — by  this  silent  interchange  of  intel- 
ligence, this  silent  demand  on  his  forbearance,  on  his  con- 


238  DEADHAM  HARD 

nivance  in  her  secrecy,  laid  the  letter  face  downwards  on 
the  white  table-cloth,  unopened. 

Later,  Sir  Charles  Verity  being  busy  with  his  English 
correspondence  and  Carteret  having  disappeared — gone 
for  a  solitary  walk,  as  she  divined,  being,  as  she  feared, 
not  quite  pleased  with  her — she  read'  it  in  the  security  of 
her  bedroom,  seated,  for  greater  ease,  upon  the  polished 
parquet  floor  just  inside  an  open,  southward-facing  French 
window,  where  the  breeze  coming  up  off  the  sea  gently 
fanned  her  face. 

The  letter  began  without  preamble: 

"  We  made  this  port — Genoa — last  night.  All  day  we 
have  been  discharging  cargo.  Half  my  crew  has  gone 
ashore,  set  on  liquoring  and  wenching  after  the  manner 
of  unregenerate  sailor-men  all  the  world  over.  The  other 
half  follows  their  bad  example  to-morrow,  as  we  shall  be 
lying  idle  in  honour  of  the  Christmas  festival.  On  board 
discipline  is  as  strict  as  I  know  how  to  make  it,  but 
ashore  my  hand  is  lifted  off  them.  So  long  as  they  turn  up 
on  time  they  are  free  to  follow  their  fancy,  even  though 
it  lead  them  to  smutty  places.  My  own  fancies  don't  hap- 
pen to  lie  that  way,  for  which  I  in  nowise  praise  myself. 
It  is  an  affair  of  absence  of  inclination  rather  than  over- 
much active  virtue.  I  am  really  no  better  than  they,  see- 
ing I  yield  to  the  only  temptation  which  takes  me — the 
temptation  to  write  to  you.  I  have  resisted  it  times  out 
of  number  since  I  bade  you  good-bye  at  The  Hard.  But 
Christmas-night  turns  one  a  bit  soft  and  craving  for  sight 
and  touch  of  those  who  belong  to  one.  So  much  I  dare 
say,  though  I  go  back  on  nothing  I  said  to  you  then  about 
the  keeping  up  of  decent  barriers.  Only  being  Christmas- 
night-soft  I  give  myself  the  licence  of  a  holiday — for  once. 
The  night  is  clear  as  glass  and  the  city  rises  in  a  great 
semicircle,  pierced  by  and  outlined  in  twinkling  lights, 
right  up  to  the  ring  of  forts  crowning  the  hills,  where  the 
sky  begins — a  sky  smothered  in  stars.  I  have  been  out, 
on  deck,  looking  at  it  all,  at  the  black  masts  and  funnels 
of  the  ships  ranging  to  right  and  left  against  the  glare 


THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  FOREST     239 

of  the  town,  and  at  the  oily,  black  water,  thick  with  float- 
ing filth  and  garbage  and  with  wandering  reflections  like 
jewels  and  precious  metals  on  the  surface  of  it — the  rum- 
miest  mixture  of  fair  and  foul.  And  then,  all  that  faded 
out  somehow — and  I  saw  black  water  again,  but  clean 
this  time  and  with  no  reflections,  under  a  close-drawn  veil 
of  falling  rain ;  and  I  felt  to  lift  you  out  of  the  boat  and 
carry  you  in  across  the  lawn  and  up  to  your  room.  And 
then  I  could  not  hold  out  against  temptation  any  longer, 
but  came  here  into  my  cabin  and  sat  down  to  write  to 
you.  The  picture  of  you,  wet  and  limp  and  helpless  in 
my  arms,  is  always  with  me,  stamped  on  the  very  sub- 
stance of  my  brain,  as  is  the  other  picture  of  you  in  the 
drawing-room  lined  with  book-cases,  where  we  found  one 
another  for  the  second  time.  Found  one  another  in  spirit, 
I  mean;  an  almost  terribly  greater  finding  than  the  first 
one,  because  it  can  go  on  for  ever  as  it  belongs  to  the  part 
of  us  which  does  not  die.  That  is  my  faith  anyhow.  To- 
morrow morning  I  will  go  ashore  and  into  one  of  those  big, 
tawdry  Genoa  churches,  and  listen  to  the  music,  standing 
in  some  quiet  corner,  and  think  about  you  and  renew  my 
vows  to  you.  It  won't  be  half  bad  to  keep  Christmas  that 
way. 

"  I  don't  pretend  to  be  a  great  letter-writer,  so  if  this 
one  has  funny  fashions  to  it  you  must  forgive  both  them 
and  me.  I  write  as  I  feel  and  must  leave  it  so.  The 
voyage  has  been  good,  and  my  poor  old  tub  has  behaved 
herself,  kept  afloat  and  done  her  best,  bravely  if  a  bit 
wheezingly,  in  some  rather  nasty  seas.  When  we  are 
through  here  I  take  her  across  to  Tripoli  and  back  along 
the  African  coast  to  Algiers,  then  across  to  Marseilles.  I 
reckon  to  reach  there  in  six  weeks  or  two  months  from 
now.  You  might  perhaps  be  willing  to  write  a  line  to  me 
there — to  the  care  of  my  owners,  Messrs.  Denniver,  Hol- 
land &  Co.  Their  office  is  in  the  Cannebiere.  I  don't  ask 
you  to  do  this,  but  only  tell  you  I  should  value  it  more 
than  you  can  quite  know. — Now  my  holiday  is  over  and 
I  will  close  down  till  next  Christmas-night — unless  miracles 
happen  meanwhile — so  good-bye. — Here  is  a  boatload  of 


240  DEADHAM  HARD 

my  lads  coining  alongside,  roaring  with  song  and  as  drunk 
as  lords. — God  bless  you.  In  spirit  I  once  again  kiss  your 
dear  feet.  Your  brother  till  death  and  after. 

DAECY  FAIRCLOTH." 

Dazed,  enchanted,  held  captive  by  the  secular  magic 
pertaining1  to  those  who  "  go  down  to  the  sea  in  ships  " 
and  ply  their  calling  in  the  great  waters,  held  captive,  too, 
by  the  mysteri9us  prenatal  sympathies  which  unite  those 
who  come  of  the  same  blood,  Damans  stayed  very  still, 
sitting  childlike  upon  the  bare  polished  floor,  while  the 
wind  murmured  through  the  spreading  pines,  shading  the 
terrace  below,  and  gently  fanned  her  throat  and  temples. 

For  Faircloth's  letter  seemed  to  her  very  wonderful, 
alike  in  its  vigour,  its  simplicity  and — her  lips  quivered — 
its  revelation  of  loving. — How  he  cared — and  how  he  went 
on  caring! — There  were  coarse  words  in  it,  the  meaning 
of  which  she  neither  knew  nor  sought  to  know ;  but  she  did 
not  resent  them.  The  letter  indeed  would  have  lost  some 
of  its  living  force,  its  convincing  reality,  had  they  been 
omitted.  They  rang  true,  to  her  ear.  And  just  because 
they  rang  true  the  rest  rang  blessedly  true  as  well.  She 
gloried  in  the  whole  therefore,  breathing  through  it  a 
larger  air  of  faith  and  hope,  and  confident  fortitude.  The 
kindred  qualities  of  her  own  heart  and  intelligence,  the 
flush  of  her  fine  enthusiasm,  sprang  to  meet  and  join  with 
the  fineness  of  it,  its  richness  of  promise  and  of  good  omen. 

For  a  time  mind  and  emotion  remained  thus  in  stable 
and  exalted  equilibrium.  Then,  as  enchantment  reached 
its  necessary  term  and  her  apprehensions  and  thought 
began  to  work  more  normally,  she  badly  wanted  someone 
to  speak  to.  She  wanted  to  bear  witness,  to  testify,  to 
pour  forth  both  the  moving  tale  and  her  own  sensations, 
into  the  ear  of  some  indulgent  and  friendly  listener.  She 
— she — wanted  to  tell  Colonel  Carteret  about  it,  to  enlist 
his  interest,  to  read  him,  in  part  at  least,  Darcy  Faircloth's 
letter,  and  hear  his  confirmation  of  the  noble  spirit  she  dis- 
cerned in  it,  its  poetry,  its  charm.  For  the  dear  man  with 
the  blue  eyes  would  understand,  of  that  she  felt  confi- 


THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  FOREST     241 

dent,  understand  fully — and  it  would  set  her  right  with 
him,  if,  as  she  suspected,  he- was  not  somehow  quite  pleased 
with  her.  She  caressed  the  idea,  while,  so  doing,  silence 
and  concealment  grew  increasingly  irksome  to  her.  Oh! 
she  wanted  to  speak — and  to  her  father  she  could  not 
speak. 

With  that  both  Damaris'.  attitude  and  expression 
changed,  the  glory  abruptly  departng.  She  got  up  off  the 
floor,  left  the  window,  and  sat  down  very  soberly,  in  a 
red-velvet  covered  arm-chair,  placed  before  the  flat  stone 
hearth  piled  with  wood  ashes. 

There  truly  was  the  fly  in  the  ointment,  the  abiding 
smirch  on  the  otherwise  radiant  surface — as  she  now  hailed 
it — of  this  strangely  moving  fraternal  relation.  The  fact 
of  it  did  come,  and,  as  she  feared,  would  inevitably  con- 
tinue to  come  between  her  and  her  father,  marring  to  an 
appreciable  degree  their  mutual  confidence  and  sympathy. 
At  Deadham  he  had  braced  himself  to  deal  with  the  sub- 
ject in  a  spirit  of  rather  magnificent  self-abnegation.  But 
the  effort  had  cost  him  more  than  she  quite  cared  to  esti- 
mate,, in  lowered  pride  and  moral  suffering.  It  had  told 
on  not  only  his  mental  but  his  physical  health.  Now  that 
he  was  in  great  measure  restored,  his  humour  no  longer 
saturnine,  he  no  longer  remote,  sunk  in  himself  and  in- 
accessible, it  would  be  not  only  injudicious,  but  selfish, 
to  the  verge  of  active  cruelty,  to  press  the  subject  again 
upon  his  notice,  to  propose  further  concessions,  or  further 
recognition  of  its  existence.  She  couldn't  ask  that  of  him 
— ten  thousand  times  no,  she  couldn't  ask  it — though  not 
to  ask  it  was  to  let  the  breach  in  sympathy  and  confidence 
widen  silently  and  grow. 

So  much  was  sadly  clear  to  her.  She  unfolded  Fair- 
cloth's  letter  and  read  it  through  a  second  time,  in  vain 
hope  of  discovering  some  middle  way,  some  leading.  Read 
it,  feeling  the  first  enchantment  but  all  cross-hatched  now 
and  seamed  with  perplexity  and  regret.  For  decent  bar- 
riers must  stand,  he  declared,  which  meant  concealment 
indefinitely  prolonged,  the  love  of  brother  and  sister 
wasted,  starved  to  the  mean  proportions  of  an  occasional 


242  DEADHAM  HARD 

furtive  letter ;  sacrificed,  with  all  its  possibilities  of  present 
joy  and  future  comfort,  to  hide  the  passage  of  long-ago 
wrongdoing  in  which  it  had  its  source. 

Her  hesitation  went  a  step  behind  this  presently,  arguing 
as  to  how  that  could  be  sin  which  produced  so  gracious  a 
result.  It  wasn't  logical  an  evil  tree  should  bear  such 
conspicuously  good  fruit.  Yet  conscience  and  instinct  as- 
sured her  the  tree  was  indeed  evil — a  thing  of  license,  of 
unruly  passion  upon  which  she  might  not  look.  Had  it 
not  been  her  first  thought — when  Faircloth  told  her,  drift- 
ing down  the  tide-river  in  the  chill  and  dark — that  he  must 
feel  sad,  feel  angry  having  been  wronged  by  the  manner 
of  his  birth?  He  had  answered  "  yes,"  thereby  admitting 
the  inherent  evil  of  the  tree  of  which  his  existence  was  the 
fruit — adding,  "  but  not  often  and  not  for  long,"  since 
he  esteemed  the  gift  of  life  too  highly  to  be  overnice  as 
to  the  exact  method  by  which  he  became  possessed  of  it. 
He  palliated,  therefore,  he  excused,  but  he  did  not  deny. 

By  this  time  Damaris'  mind  wheeled  in  a  vicious  circle, 
perpetually  swinging  round  to  the  original  starting-point. 
The  moral  puzzle  proved  too  complicated  for  her,  the 
practical  one  equally  hard  of  solution.  She  stood  be- 
tween them,  her  father  and  her  brother.  Their  interests 
conflicted,  as  did  the  duty  she  owed  each;  and  her  heart, 
her  judgment,  her  piety  were  torn  two  ways  at  once. 
Would  it  always  be  thus — or  would  the  pull  of  one  prove 
conclusively  the  stronger?  Would  she  be  compelled  finally 
to  choose  between  them?  Not  that  either  openly  did  or 
ever  would  strive  to  coerce  her.  Both  were  honourable, 
both  magnanimous.  And,  out  of  her  heart,  she  desired  to 
serve  both  justly  and  equally — only — only — upon  youth 
the  pull  of  youth  is  very  great. 

She  put  her  hands  over  her  eyes,  shrinking,  frightened. 
Was  it  possible  she  loved  Darcy  Faircloth  best? 

A  knocking.  Damaris  slipped  the  letter  into  the  pocket 
of  her  dress,  and  rising  crossed  the  room  and  opened  the 
door. 

Hordle  stood  in  the  pale  spacious  corridor  without.  He 
presented  Marshall  Wace's  card.  The  gentleman,  he  said 


THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  FOREST     243 

rather  huffily,  had  called,  bringing  a  message  from  Mrs. 
Frayling  as  Hordle  understood,  which  he  requested  to 
deliver  to  Miss  Damaris  in  person.  He  begged  her  to 
believe  he  was  in  no  hurry.  If  she  was  engaged  he  could 
perfectly  well  wait. — He  would  do  so  in  the  hotel  drawing- 
room,  until  it  was  convenient  to  her  to  allow  him  a  few 
minutes'  conversation. 

So,  for  the  second  time,  this  young  man's  intrusion 
proved  by  no  means  unwelcome,  as  offering  Damaris  timely 
escape.  She  went  down  willingly  to  receive  him.  Yester- 
day he  struck  her  as  a  pleasant  and  agreeable  person — 
and  of  a  type  with  which  she  was  unacquainted.  It  would 
be  interesting  to  talk  to  him. — She  felt  anxious,  moreover, 
to  learn  what  Henrietta,  lovely  if  not  entirely  satisfactory 
Henrietta,  could  possibly  want. 


CHAPTER  IV 

BLOWING  OF  ONE'S  OWN  TRUMPET  PRACTISED  AS  A  FINE  ART 

THE  slender  little  Corsican  horses,  red-chestnut  in 
colour  and  active  as  cats,  trotted,  with  a  tinkle  of 
bells,  through  the  barred  sunshine  and  shadow  of 
the  fragrant  pine  and  cork  woods.  The  road,  turning 
inland,  climbed  steadily,  the  air  growing  lighter  and 
fresher  as  the  elevation  increased — a  nip  in  it  testifying 
that  January  was  barely  yet  out.  And  that  nip  justified 
the  wearing  of  certain  afore-mentioned  myrtle-green,  fur- 
trimmed  pelisse,  upon  which  Damaris'  minor  affections 
were,  at  this  period,  much  set.  Though  agreeably  warm 
and  thick,  it  moulded  her  bosom,  neatly  shaped  her  waist, 
and  that  without  any  defacing  wrinkle.  The  broad  fur 
band  at  the  throat  compelled  her  to  carry  her  chin  high, 
with  a  not  unbecoming  effect.  Her  cheeks  bloomed,  her 
eyes  shone  bright,  as  she  sat  beside  Mrs.  Frayling  in  the 
ppen  victoria,  relishing  the  fine  air,  the  varying  prospect, 
her  own  good  clothes,  her  companion's  extreme  prettiness 
and  lively  talk. 

This  drive,  the  prelude  to  Henrietta's  campaign, 
presented  that  lady  at  her  best.  The  advantage  of  being 
— as  Henrietta — essentially  artificial,  is  that  you  can  never, 
save  by  forgetful  lapse  into  sincerity,  be  untrue  to  your- 
self. Hence  what  a  saving  of  scruples,  of  self-accusation, 
of  self -torment !  Her  plans  once  fixed  she  proceeded  to 
carry  them  out  with  unswerving  ease  and  spontaneity. 
She  refused  to  hurry,  her  only  criterion  of  personal  con- 
duct being  success;  and  success,  so  she  believed,  if  sound, 
being  a  plant  of  gradual  growth.  Therefore  she  gave  both 
herself  and  others  time.  Once  fairly  in  the  saddle,  she 
never  strained,  never  fussed. 

Her  cue  to-day  was  to  offer  information  rather  than  to 

244 


require  it.  Curious  about  many  things  she  might  be; 
but  gratification  of  her  curiosity  must  wait.  Damaris,  on 
her  part,  listened  eagerly,  asking  nothing  better  than  to  be 
kept  amused,  kept  busy,  helped  to  forget. — Not  Faircloth's 
letter — very,  very  far  from  that! — but  the  inward  conflict 
of  opposing  loves,  opposing  duties,  which  meditation  upon 
his  letter  so  distractingly  produced.  ^Relatively  all,  out- 
side that  conflict  and  the  dear  cause  of  it,  was  of  small 
moment — mere  play  stuff  at  best.  But  her  brain  and 
conscience  were  tired.  She  would  be  so  glad,  for  a  time, 
only  to  think  about  play  stuff. 

"  I  want  you  to  go  on  being  kind  to  Marshall  Wace," 
Henrietta  in  the  course  of  conversation  presently  said. 
' '  He  told  me  how  charmingly  you  received  him  yesterday, 
when  he  called  with  my  note.  He  was  so  pleased.  He  is 
exaggeratedly  sensitive  owing  to  unfortunate  family  com- 
plications in  the  past." 

Damaris  pricked  up  her  ears,  family  complications 
having  latterly  acquired  a  rather  painful  interest  for 
her. 

"  Poor  man — I'm  sorry,"  she  said. 

' '  His  mother,  a  favourite  cousin  of  my  husband,  General 
Frayling,  married  an  impossible  person — eloped  with  him, 
to  tell  the  truth.  Her  people,  not  without  reason,  were 
dreadfully  put  out.  The  children  were  brought  up  rather 
anyhow.  Marshall  did  not  go  to  a  public  school,  which 
he  imagines  places  him  at  a  disadvantage  with  other  men. 
Perhaps  it  does.  Men  always  strike  me  as  being  quaintly 
narrow-minded  on  that  subject.  Later  he  was  sent  to  Cam- 
bridge with  the  idea  of  his  taking  Orders  and  going  into 
the  Church.  My  husband's  elder  brother,  Leonard  Fray- 
ling,  is  patron  of  several  livings.  He  would  have  presented 
Marshall  to  the  first  which  fell  vacant,  and  thus  his  future 
would  have  been  secured.  But  just  as  he  was  going  up 
for  deacon's  orders,  Marshall,  rather  I  can't  help  feeling 
like  a  goose,  developed  theological  difficulties.  They  were 
perfectly  genuine,  I  don't  doubt;  but  they  were  also 
singularly  ill-timed — a  little  earlier,  a  little  later,  or  not  at 
all  would  have  been  infinitely  more  convenient.  So  there 


246  DEADHAM  HARD 

he  was,  poor  fellow,  thrown  on  the  world  at  three-and- 
twenty  with  no  profession  and  no  prospects;  for  my 
brother-in-law  washed  his  hands  of  him  when  the  theologi- 
cal difficulties  were  announced.  Marshall  tried  bear-lead- 
ing; but  people  are  not  particularly  anxious  to  entrust 
their  boys  to  a  non-public  school  man  afflicted  by  religious 
doubts.  He  thought  of  making  use  of  his  really  exquisite 
voice  and  becoming  a  public  singer;  but  the  training  is 
fearfully  expensive,  and  so  somehow  that  plan  also  fell 
through.  For  a  time  I  am  afraid  he  was  really  reduced 
to  great  straits,  with  the  consequence  that  he  broke  down 
in  health.  Through  friends,  my  husband  got  to  hear  of 
Marshall's  miserable  circumstances — shortly  after  our 
marriage  it  was — and  felt  it  incumbent  upon  him  to  go  to 
the  rescue." 

Henrietta  paused,  thereby  giving  extra  point  to  what 
was  to  follow,  and  pulled  the  fur  rug  up  absently  about  her 
waist. 

"  For  the  last  eighteen  months,"  she  said,  "  Marshall 
has  practically  made  his  home  with  us.  The  arrangement 
has  its  drawbacks,  of  course.  For  one  thing  the  General 
and  I  are  never  alone,  and  that  is  a  trial  to  us  both. 
Two's  company  and  three's  none.  "When  a  husband  and 
wife  are  really  devoted  they  don't  want  always  to  have  a 
third  wheel  to  the  domestic  cart." 

Then,  as  if  checking  further  and  very  natural  inclina- 
tion to  repining,  she  looked  round  at  Damaris,  smiling  from 
behind  her  thick  white  net  veil  with  most  disarming  sweet- 
ness. 

"  No— no — I'm  not  naughty.  I  don't  mean  to  complain 
about  it,"  she  prettily  protested.  "  For  I  do  so  strongly 
feel  if  one  sets  out  to  do  good  it  shouldn't  be  by  driblets, 
with  your  name,  in  full,  printed  in  subscription  lists 
against  every  small  donation.  You  should  plump  for  your 
protege,  and  that  with  the  least  ostentation  possible.  The 
General  and  I  are  careful  not  to  let  people  know  Marshall 
stays  with  us  as  a  guest.  It  is  rather  a  slip  speaking  of 
it  even  to  you;  but  I  can  trust  you  not  to  repeat  what  I 
say.  I  am  sure  of  that." 


Damaris  laid  a  hand  fondly,  impulsively  upon  the  elder 
woman 's  knee. 

"  For  certain  you  can  trust  me.  For  certain  anything 
you  say  to  me  is  just  between  our  two  selves.  I  should 
never  dream  of  repeating  it." 

"  There  speaks  the  precious  downy  owl  of  long  ago," 
Mrs.  Frayling  brightly  cried,  "  bustling  up  in  defence  of 
its  own  loyalty  and  honour.  Ah!  Damaris,  how  very  de- 
licious it  is  to  have  you  with  me!  " 

For,  her  main  point  having  been  made,  she  now 
adroitly  discarded  pathos.  Another  word  regarding 
her  philanthropic  harbourage  of  the  young  man, 
Marshall  Wace,  remained  to  be  spoken — but  not  yet. 
Let  it  come  in  later,  naturally  and  without  hint  of  in- 
sistence. 

"  We  must  be  together  as  much  as  possible  during  the 
next  few  weeks,"  she  went  on — "  as  often  as  Sir  Charles 
can  be  persuaded  to  spare  you  to  me.  Whether  the  General 
and  I  shall  ever  make  up  our  minds  to  settle  down  in  a 
home  of  our  own,  where  I  could  ask  you  to  stay  with  us, 
I  don't  know.  I'm  afraid  we  are  hopelessly  nomadic. 
Therefore  I  am  extra  anxious  to  make  the  most  of  the 
happy  accident  which  has  thrown  us  together,  anxious 
to  get  every  ounce  possible  of  intercourse  out  of  it. — We 
quite  understand  you  have  luncheon  with  me  on  Thursday, 
don't  we? — and  that  you  stay  and  help  me  through  the 
afternoon.  I  am  always  at  home  on  Thursdays  to  the 
neighbours.  They  aren't  all  of  them  conspicuously  well- 
bred  or  exciting ;  but  I  have  learnt  to  take  the  rough  with 
the  smooth,  the  boring  along  with  the  gifted  and  brilliant. 
India  is  a  good  school  in  which  to  learn  hospitality.  The 
practise  of  that  virtue  becomes  a  habit.  And  I  for  one 
quite  refuse  to  excuse  myself  from  further  exercise  of  it 
on  coming  back  to  Europe.  The  General  feels  with  me; 
and  we  have  laid  ourselves  out  to  be  civil  to  our  com- 
patriots here  at  St.  Augustin  this  winter.  A  few  people 
were  vexatiously  stiff  and  starched  at  first;  but  each  one 
of  them  has  given  in,  in  turn.  They  really  do,  I  believe, 
appreciate  our  little  social  efforts." 


248  DEADHAM  HARD 

"  Who  wouldn't  give  in  to  you  Henrietta?  "  Damaris 
murmured. 

Whereupon  Mrs.  Frayling  delicately  beamed  on  her; 
and,  agreeable  unanimity  of  sentiment  being  thus  estab- 
lished, conversation  between  the  two  ladies  for  a  while 
fell  silent. 

The  little  chestnut  horses,  meantime,  encouraged  with 
"  Oh  he-s  "  and  "  Oh  la-s  "  by  their  driver,  trotted  and 
climbed,  climbed  and  trotted,  until  the  woodland  lay  below 
and  the  Signal  de  la  Palu  was  reached.  A  wide  level 
space  on  a  crest  of  the  foot-hills — with  flag  staff  bearing 
the  valorous  tricolor,  and  rustic  log-built  restaurant  offer- 
ing refreshment — opening  upon  the  full  splendour  of  the 
Maritime  Alps. 

Damaris  stepped  out  of  the  carriage,  and,  patting  the 
near  horse  on  the  neck  in  passing,  went  forward  across  the 
sparse  turf,  starred  with  tiny  clear  coloured  flowers,  to 
the  edge  of  the  platform. 

The  Provengal  coachman,  from  his  perch  on  the  box- 
seat  of  the  victoria,  his  rough-caste  crumpled  countenance 
sun-baked  to  the  solid  ruddy  brown  of  the  soil  of  his  own 
vineyard,  followed  her  movements  with  approving  glances. 
— For  she  was  fresh  as  an  opening  rose  the  young  English 
Mees,  and  though  most  elegant,  how  agile,  how  evidently 
strong ! 

Innocent  of  the  admiration  she  excited,  Damaris  stood 
absorbed,  awed  even,  by  the  grandeur  of  the  scene.  Many 
hundred  feet  below,  the  rent  chasm  down  which  it  took  its 
course  steeped  in  violet  gloom,  the  milk-white  waters  of  an 
ice-fed  river  impetuously  journeyed  to  the  fertile  lowlands 
and  the  sea.  Opposite,  across  the  gorge,  amazingly  dis- 
tinct in  the  pellucid  atmosphere,  rose  the  high  mountains, 
the  undented,  untrodden  and  eternal  snows.  Azure 
shadow,  transparent,  ethereal,  haunted  them,  bringing  into 
evidence  enormous  rounded  shoulder,  cirque,  crinkled 
glacier,  knife-edge  of  underlying  rock. 

They  belonged  to  the  deepest  the  most  superb  of  life, 
this  rent  gorge,  these  mountains — like  Faircloth's  letter. 
Would  beautiful  and  noble  sights,  such  as  these,  always  in 


THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  FOREST     249 

future  give  her  an  ache  of  longing  for  the  writer  of  that 
letter,  for  the  romance,  the  poetry,  of  the  unacknowledged 
relation  he  bore  to  her?  Tears  smarted  hot  in  Damaris' 
eyes,  and  resolutely,  if  rather  piteously,  she  essayed  to 
wink  them  away.  For  to  her  it  just  now  seemed,  the 
deepest,  the  most  superb  of  life  was  also  in  great  measure 
the  forbidden.  The  ache  must  be  endured,  then,  the  long- 
ing go  unsatisfied,  since  she  could  only  stay  the  pain  of 
them  by  doing  violence  to  plain  and  heretofore  fondly 
cherished,  duties. 

But  her  tears  defied  the  primitive  process  of  winking. 
Not  so  cheaply  could  she  rid  herself  of  their  smart  and 
the  blurred  distorted  vision  they  occasioned.  She  pulled 
out  her  handkerchief  petulantly  and  wiped  them.  Then 
schooled  herself  to  a  colder,  more  moderate  and  reasonable 
temper. 

And,  so  doing,  her  thought  turned  gratefully  to  Mrs. 
Frayling.  For  mercifully  Henrietta  was  here  to  help  fill 
the  void;  to,  in  a  manner,  break  her  fall.  Henrietta  didn't 
belong  to  the  depths  or  the  heights,  that  she  regretfully 
admitted.  With  the  eternal  snows  she  possessed  little  or 
nothing  in  common.  But,  at  a  lower,  more  everyday  level, 
had  not  she  a  vast  amount  to  offer,  what  with  her  personal 
loveliness,  her  social  cleverness,  her  knowledge  of  the 
world  and  its  ways?  She  might  not  amount  to  the  phrenix 
of  Damaris'  childhood's  adoration;  but  she  was  very 
friendly,  very  diverting,  delightfully  kind.  Damaris 
honestly  believed  all  these  excellent  things  of  her. — She 
had  been  stupidly  fastidious  three  days  ago,  and  failed  to 
do  Henrietta  justice.  What  she  had  learned — by  chance 
— this  afternoon,  of  Henrietta's  unselfishness  and  generous 
treatment  of  Marshall  Wace  bore  effectively  convincing 
witness  to  the  sweetness  of  her  disposition  and  kindness  of 
her  heart.  Damaris  felt  bound  to  make  amends  for  that 
unspoken  injustice,  of  which  she  now  repented.  How  bet- 
ter could  she  do  so  than  by  giving  herself  warmly,  without 
reserve  or  restraint,  in  response  to  the  interest  and  atten- 
tion Henrietta  lavished  upon  her? — At  eighteen,  to  be 
wooed  by  so  finished  and  popular  a  person  was  no  mean 


250  DEADHAM  HARD 

compliment. — She  wouldn't  hold  back,  suspicious  and 
grudging;  but  enjoy  all  Henrietta  so  delightfully  offered 
to  the  uttermost. 

And  there,  as  though  clenching  the  conclusion  thus  ar- 
rived at,  Mrs.  Frayling's  voice  gaily  hailed  her,  calling: 

"  Damaris,  Damaris,  here  is  our  tea — or  rather  our 
coffee.  Come,  darling  child,  and  partake  before  it  gets 
cold." 

So  after  a  brief  pause,  spent  in  determined  looking,  the 
girl  bowed  her  head  in  mute  farewell;  and  turned  her 
back  perhaps  courageously,  perhaps  unwisely  and  some- 
what faithlessly,  upon  the  mountains,  and  the  rare  mys- 
teries of  their  untrodden  snows.  She  went  across  the 
sparse  turf,  starred  with  tiny  clear,  coloured  flowers,  her 
face  stern,  for  all  its  youthful  bloom  and  softness,  her  eyes 
meditative  and  profound. 

The  owner  of  the  log-built  restaurant,  a  thick-set, 
grizzled  veteran  of  the  Franco-Prussian  war,  the  breast  of 
his  rusty  velveteen  jacket  proudly  bearing  a  row  of  medals, 
etood  talking  to  Mrs.  Frayling,  hat  in  hand.  His  right 
foot  had  suffered  amputation  some  inches  above  the  ankle, 
and  he  walked  with  the  ungainly  support  of  a  crutch- 
topped  peg-leg  strapped  to  the  flexed  knee. 

As  Damaris  approached  the  carriage,  he  swept  back  the 
fur  rug  in  gallantly  respectful  invitation ;  and,  so  soon  as 
she  ensconced  herself  on  the  seat  beside  Henrietta,  bending 
down  he  firmly  and  comfortably  tucked  it  round  her.  He 
declared,  further,  as  she  thanked  him,  it  an  honour  in  any 
capacity  to  serve  her,  since  had  not  Madame,  but  this 
moment,  so  gracefully  informed  him  of  the  commanding 
military  career  of  the  Mademoiselle's  father,  possessor 
of  that  unique  distinction  the  Victoria  Cross — a  person 
animated,  moreover,  as  Madame  reported,  by  sincere  sym- 
pathy for  the  tragic  sorrows  of  well-beloved  and  so  now 
cruelly  dismembered  France. 

Damaris  heard,  in  this  singing  of  her  father's  praises, 
a  grateful  reconciling  strain.  She  found  it  profitable,  just 
now,  to  recall  the  heroic  deeds,  the  notable  achievements 
which  marked  his  record.  Her  coffee  tasted  the  more 


THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  FOREST     251 

fragrant  for  it,  the  butter  the  fresher,  the  honey  the 
sweeter  wherewith  she  spread  the  clean  coarse  home-baked 
bread.  She  ate,  indeed,  with  a  capital  appetite,  the  long 
drive  and  stimulating  air,  making  her  hungry.  Possibly 
even  her  recent  emotion  contributed  to  that  result;  for 
in  youth  heartache  by  no  means  connotes  a  disposition 
towards  fasting,  rather  does  diet,  generous  in  quantity, 
materially  assist  to  soothe  its  anguish. 

This  meal,  in  fact,  partaken  of  in  the  open,  alone  with 
Henrietta,  object  of  her  childhood's  idolatry — the  first 
they  had  shared  since  those  remote  and  guileless  years — 
assumed  to  Damaris  a  sacramental  character,  though  of 
the  earthly  and  mundane  rather  than  transcendental  kind. 
Its  communion  was  one  of  good  fellowship,  of  agreement 
in  cultivation  of  the  lighter  social  side;  which,  upon  our 
maiden's  part,  implied  tacit  consent  to  conform  to  easier 
standards  than  those  until  now  regulating  her  thought  and 
action,  implied  tacit  acceptance  of  Henrietta  as  example 
and  as  guide. 

Whether  the  latter  would  have  found  cause  for  self- 
congratulation,  could  she  have  fathomed  the  precise  cause 
of  this  apparently  speedy  conquest  and  speedy  surrender, 
is  doubtful ;  since  it,  in  fact,  took  its  rise  less  in  the  fascina- 
tion of  devotion  given,  than  in  that  of  devotion  denied. 
She  happened  to  be  here  on  the  spot  at  a  critical  juncture, 
and  thus  to  catch  the  young  girl's  heart  on  the  rebound. 
That  was  all — that,  joined  with  Damaris'  instinctive  neces- 
sity to  play  fair  and  pay  in  honest  coin  for  every  benefit 
received. 

So  much  must  be  said  in  extenuation  of  our  nymph-like 
damsel's  apparent  subjection  to  levity — a  declension  which, 
in  the  sequel  and  in  certain  quarters,  went  neither  un- 
noticed nor  undeplored.  But  to  labour  this  point  is  to 
forestall  history.  Immediately  her  change  of  attitude 
announced  its  existence  innocently  enough.  For  the 
sacramental  meal  once  consumed,  and  courteous  parting 
words  bestowed  upon  the  valiant  soldier  broken  in  his 
country's  wars,  the  coachman  mounted  the  box,  and 
gathering  up  the  reins,  with  "  Ho  he's  "  and  "  ho  la's," 


252  DEADHAM  HARD 

$wung  his  horses  half  round  the  level  and  plunged  them 
over  the  hill-side,  along  a  steep  woodland  track,  leading  by 
serpentine  twists  and  curves  down  to  join  the  Corniche 
Road — a  blonde  ribbon  rimming  the  indentations  of  the 
five-mile  distant  coast. 

Damans  steadied  herself  well  back  on  the  seat  of  the 
carriage  as  it  swayed  and  bumped  over  ruts  and  tree-roots 
to  the  lively  menace  of  its  springs.  She  studiously  kept 
her  face  turned  towards  her  companion,  a  myrtle-green 
shoulder  as  studiously  turned  towards  the  view.  For  she 
found  it  wiser  not  even  to  glance  in  that  direction,  lest 
rebellious  regrets  and  longings  should  leap  on  her  across 
the  violet-blotted  abyss  from  out  those  shining  Alpine 
citadels.  While  to  strengthen  herself  in  allegiance  to  Mrs. 
Frayling  and  to,  what  may  be  called,  the  lighter  side,  she 
pushed  one  hand  into  that  lady's  muff  and  coaxed  the 
slender  pointed-fingers  hiding  in  the  comfortable  pussy- 
warmth  within. 

"  Tell  me  stories,  Henrietta,  please,"  she  entreated, 
"  about  all  the  people  whom  you've  asked  to  your  party 
on  Thursday.  Dress  them  up  for  me  and  put  them 
through  their  paces,  so  that  I  may  know  who  they  all  are 
when  I  see  them  and  make  no  mistakes,  but  behave  to  them 
just  as  you  would  wish  me  to." 

"  Gradate  your  attentions  and  not  pet  the  wrong  ones?  " 

Mrs.  Frayling  gave  gentle  squeeze  for  squeeze  in  the 
pussy-warmth,  laughing  a  trifle  impishly. 

"  You  sinful  child,"  she  said — "  Gracious,  what  jolts 
— my  spine  will  soon  be  driven  through  the  top  of  my  skull 
at  this  rate! — Yes,  sinful  in  tempting  me  to  gibbet  my 
acquaintances  for  your  amusement." 

"  But  why  gibbet  them?  Aren't  they  nice,  don't  you 
care  for  them?  " 

"  Prodigiously,  of  course.  Yet  would  you  find  it  in  the 
least  interesting  or  illuminating  if  I  indexed  their  modest 
virtues  only?  " 

"  I  think  the  old  soldier  found  it  both  interesting  and 
illuminating  when  you  indexed  my  father's  virtues  just 
now." 


THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  FOREST     253 

"  Sir  Charles's  virtues  hardly  come  under  the  head  of 
modest  ones,"  Mrs.  Frayling  threw  off  almost  sharply. 
"  Give  me  someone  as  well  worth  acclaiming  and  I'll 
shout  with  the  best!  But  you  scarcely  quote  your  father 
as  among  the  average,  do  you? — The  people  whom  you'll 
meet  on  Thursday  compared  to  him,  I'm  afraid,  are  as 
molehills  to  the  mountains  yonder.  If  I  described  them 
by  their  amiable  qualities  alone  they'd  be  as  indistinguish- 
able and  as  insipid  as  a  row  of  dolls.  Only  through  their 
aberrations,  their  unconscious  perfidies,  iniquities,  do  they 
develop  definiteness  of  outline  and  begin  to  live.  Oh! 
nothing  could  be  unkinder  than  to  whitewash  them.  Take 
Mrs.  Callowgas,  for  instance,  with  one  eye  on  the  Church, 
the  other  on  the  world.  The  permanent  inconsistency  of 
her  attitude,  as  I  may  say  her  permanent  squint,  gives  her 
a  certain  cachet  without  which  she'd  be  a  positive  blank. 
— She  is  most  anxious  to  meet  you,  by  the  way,  and  Sir 
Charles — always  supposing  he  is  self-sacrificing  enough  to 
come — because  she  knows  connections  of  his  and  yours 
at  Harchester,  a  genial  pillar  of  the  Church  in  the  form 
of  an  Archdeacon,  in  whom,  as  I  gather,  her  dear  dead 
Lord  Bishop  very  much  put  his  trust." 

"  Tom  Verity's  father,  I  suppose,"  Damaris  murmured, 
her  colour  rising,  the  hint  of  a  cloud  too  upon  her  brow. 

"  And  who  may  Tom  Verity  be?  "  Mrs.  Frayling, 
noting  both  colour  and  cloud,  alertly  asked. 

"A  distant  cousin.  He  stayed  with  us  in  the  autumn 
just  before  he  went  out  to  India.  He  passed  into  the  Indian 
Civil  Service  from  Oxford  at  the  top  of  the  list." 

"  Praiseworthy  young  man." 

"Oh!  but  you  would  like  him,  Henrietta,"  the  girl 
declared.  "  He  is  very  clever  and  very  entertaining  too 

when  " 

'When?" 

"  Well,  when  he  doesn't  tease  too  much.  He  has  an 
immense  amount  to  talk  about,  and  very  good  manners." 

"  Also,  when  he  does  not  tease  too  much? — And  you 
like  him?  " 

' '  I  don 't  quite  know, ' '  Damaris  slowly  said.    ' '  He  did 


254-  DEADHAM  HARD 

not  stay  with  us  long  enough  for  me  to  make  up  my  mind. 
And  then  other  things  happened  which  rather  put  him  out 
of  my  head.  He  was  a  little  conceited,  perhaps,  I  thought." 

"  Not  unnaturally,  being  at  the  top  of  the  pass  list. 
But  though  other  things  put  him  out  of  your  head,  he  writes 
to  you?  " 

In  the  pussy-warmth  within  her  muff,  Mrs.  Frayling 
became  sensible  that  Damaris'  hand  grew  unresponsive, 
at  once  curiously  stiff  and  curiously  limp. 

"  He  has  written  twice.  Once  on  the  voyage  out,  and 
again  soon  after  he  arrived.  The — the  second  letter  reached 
me  this  week." 

Notwithstanding  sunshine,  the  eager  air,  and  lively 
bumping  of  the  descent,  Henrietta  observed  the  flush  fade, 
leaving  the  girl  white  as  milk.  Her  eyes  looked  positively 
enormous  set  in  the  pallor  of  her  face.  They  were  veiled, 
telling  nothing,  and  thereby — to  Mrs.  Frayling 's  thinking 
— betraying  much.  She  scented  a  situation — some  girlish 
attachment,  budding  affair  of  the  heart. 

"  My  father  gave  Tom  Verity  letters  of  introduction, 
and  he  wanted  us  to  know  how  kindly  he  had  been  re- 
ceived in  consequence." 

"  Most  proper  on  his  part,"  Mrs.  Frayling  said. 

She  debated  discreet  questioning,  probing — the  establish- 
ment of  herself  in  the  character  of  sympathetic  confidante. 
But  decided  against  that.  It  might  be  impolitic,  dangerous 
even,  to  press  the  pace.  Moreover  the  young  man,  what- 
ever his  attractions,  might  be  held  a  negligible  quantity  in 
as  far  as  any  little  schemes  of  her  own  were  concerned  at 
present,  long  leave  and  reappearance  upon  the  home  scene 
being  almost  certainly  years  distant. — And,  just  there, 
the  hand  within  the  muff  became  responsive  once  more, 
even  urgent  in  its  seeking  and  pressure,  as  though  appeal- 
ing for  attention  and  tenderness. 

"  Henrietta,  I  don't  want  to  be  selfish,  but  won't  you 
go  on  telling  me  stories  about  your  Thursday  party  people  ? 
— I  interrupted  you — but  it's  all  new,  you  see,  and  it 
interests  me  so  much,"  Damaris  rather  plaintively  said. 

Mrs.  Frayling  needed  no  further  inducement  to  exer- 


THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  FOREST     255 

cise  her  really  considerable  powers  of  verbal  delineation. 
Charging  her  palette  with  lively  colours,  she  sprang  to  the 
task — and  that  with  a  sprightly  composure  and  deftness 
of  touch  which  went  far  to  cloak  malice  and  rob  flippancy 
of  offence. 

Listening,  Damaris  brightened — as  the  adroit  performer 
intended  she  should — under  the  gay  cascade  of  talk. 
Laughed  at  length,  letting  finer  instincts  of  charity  go  by 
the  wall,  in  her  enjoyment  of  neatly  turned  mockeries  and 
the  sense  of  personal  superiority  they  provoked.  For 
Henrietta's  dissection  of  the  weaknesses  of  absent  friends, 
inevitably  amounted  to  indirect  flattery  of  the  friend  for 
whose  diversion  that  process  of  dissection  was  carried 
out. 

She  passed  the  whole  troop  in  review. — To  begin  with 
Miss  Maud  Callowgas,  in  permanent  waiting  upon  her  ex- 
semi-episcopal  widowed  mother — in  age  a  real  thirty-five 
though  nominal  twenty-eight,  her  muddy  complexion,  prom- 
inent teeth  and  all  too  long  back. — Her  designs,  real  or 
imagined,  upon  Marshall  Wace.  Designs  foredoomed  to 
failure,  since  whatever  his  intentions — Henrietta  smiled 
wisely — they  certainly  did  not  include  Maud  Callowgas 's 
matrimonial  future  in  their  purview. 

Herbert  Binning  followed  next — the  chaplain  who  served 
the  rather  staring  little  Anglican  church  at  Le  Vandou, 
a  suburb  of  St.  Augustin  much  patronized  by  the  English 
in  the  winter  season,  and  a  chapel  somewhere  in  the 
Bernese  Oberland  during  the  summer  months.  Energetic, 
athletic,  a  great  talker  and  squire  of  dames — in  all  honesty 
and  correctness,  this  last,  well  understood,  for  there  wasn't 
a  word  to  be  breathed  against  the  good  cleric's  morals. 
But  just  a  wee  bit  impressionable  and  flirtatious,  as  who 
might  not  very  well  be  with  such  a  whiney-piney  wife  as 
Mrs.  Binning,  always  ailing;  what  mind  she  might  (by 
stretch  of  charity)  be  supposed  to  possess  exclusively  fixed 
upon  the  chronic  irregularities  of  her  internal  organs? 
Recumbency  was  a  mania  with  her  and  she  had  a  discon- 
certing habit  of  wanting  to  lie  down  on  the  most  incon- 
veniently unsuitable  occasions. — To  mitigate  his  over- 


256  DEADHAM  HARD 

flowing  energies,  which  cried  aloud  for  work,  Mr.  Binning 
took  pupils.  He  had  two  exceptionably  nice  boys  with 
him  this  winter,  in  the  interval  between  leaving  Eton  and 
going  up  to  Oxford,  namely,  Peregrine  Ditton,  Lord 
Pamber's  younger  son,  and  Harry  Ellice,  a  nephew  of 
Lady  Hermione  Twells.  They  were  very  well-bred.  Their 
high  spirits  were  highly  infectious.  They  played  tennis  to 
perfection  and  Harry  Ellice  danced  quite  tidily  into  the 
bargain. — Damaris  must  make  friends  with  them.  They 
were  her  contemporaries,  and  delightfully  fresh  and  in- 
genuous. 

Lady  Hermione  herself — here  Henrietta's  tone  conveyed 
restraint,  even  comparative  reverence — who  never  for  an 
instant  forgot  she  once  had  reigned  over  some  microscopic 
court  out  in  the  far  Colonial  wilderness,  nor  allowed  you 
to  forget  it  either.  Her  glance  half  demanded  your  curtsy. 
Still  she  was  the  "  real  thing  "  and,  in  that,  eminently 
satisfactory — genuine  grande  dame  by  right  both  of  birth 
and  of  training. 

"  She  won't  condescend  to  tell  me  so,  being  resolved  to 
keep  me  very  much  in  my  proper  place,"  Henrietta  con- 
tinued; "  but  I  learned  yesterday  from  Mary  Ellice — 
Harry's  sister,  who  lives  with  her — that  she  is  intensely 
desirous  to  meet  Sir  Charles.  She  wants  to  talk  to  him 
about  Afghanistan  and  North-west  Frontier  policy.  A 
brother  of  hers  it  appears  was  at  one  time  in  the  Guides ; 
and  she  is  under  the  impression  your  father  and  Colonel 
Carteret  would  have  known  him. — By  the  way,  dearest 
child,  they  do  mean  to  honour  me,  those  two,  don't  they, 
with  their  presence  on  Thursday?  " 

"  Of  course  they  will,  since  you  asked  them.  Why,  they 
love  to  come  and  see  you." 

"  Do  they?  "  Mrs.  Frayling  said — "  Anyhow,  let  us 
hope  so.  I  can  trust  Carteret 's  general  benevolence,  but 
I  am  afraid  your  father  will  be  unutterably  bored  with  my 
rubbishing  little  assembly." 

"  But,  of  course,  he'll  be  nice  to  everybody  too — as  tame 
and  gentle  as  possible  with  them  all  to  please  you,  don't 
you  see,  Henrietta." 


THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  FOREST     257 

"  Ah!  no  doubt,  all  to  please  me!  "  she  repeated.  And 
fell  to  musing,  while  the  carriage,  quitting  at  last  the  rough 
forest  track,  rattled  out  on  to  the  metalled  high  road, 
white  in  dust. 

Here  the  late  afternoon  sun  still  lay  hot.  The  booming 
plunge  of  the  tideless  sea,  breaking  upon  the  rocks  below, 
quivered  in  the  quiet  air.  Henrietta  Frayling  withdrew 
her  hands  from  her  muff,  unfastened  the  collar  of  her 
sable  cape.  The  change  from  the  shadowed  woods  to  this 
glaring  sheltered  stretch  of  road  was  oppressive.  She  felt 
strangely  tired  and  spent.  She  trusted  Damaris  would 
not  perceive  her  uncomfortable  state  and  proffer  sym- 
pathy. And  Damaris,  in  fact,  did  nothing  of  the  sort, 
being  very  fully  occupied  with  her  own  concerns  at 
present. 

Half  a  mile  ahead,  pastel-tinted,  green-shuttered  houses 
— a  village  of  a  single  straggling  street — detached  them- 
selves in  broken  perspective  from  the  purple  of  pine- 
crowned  cliff  and  headland  beyond.  Behind  them  the 
western  sky  began  to  grow  golden  with  the  approach  of 
sunset.  The  road  lead  straight  towards  that  softly  golden 
light — to  St.  Augustin.  It  led  further,  deeper  into  the 
gold,  deeper,  as  one  might  fancy,  into  the  heart  of  the 
coming  sunset,  namely  to  the  world-famous  seaport  of 
Marseilles. 

Damaris  sought  to  stifle  remembrance  of  this  alluring 
fact,  as  soon  as  it  occurred  to  her.  She  must  not  dally 
with  it — no  she  mustn't.  To  in  anywise  encourage  or 
dwell  on  it,  was  weak  and  unworthy,  she  having  accepted 
the  claims  of  clearly  apprehended  duty.  She  could  not 
go  back  on  her  decision,  her  choice,  since,  in  face  of  the 
everlasting  hills,  she  had  pledged  herself. 

So  she  let  her  eyes  no  longer  rest  on  the  high-road,  but 
looked  out  to  sea — where,  as  tormenting  chance  would  have 
it,  the  black  hull  of  a  big  cargo  boat,  steaming  slowly  west- 
ward, cut  into  the  vast  expanse  of  blue,  long  pennons  of 
rusty  grey  smoke  trailing  away  from  its  twin  rusty-red 
painted  funnels. 

Hard-pressed,  the  girl  turned  to  her  companion,  asking 


258  DEADHAM  HARD 

abruptly,  inconsequently — "  Is  that  every  one  whom  you 
expect  on  Thursday,  Henrietta?  " 

For  some  seconds  Mrs.  Frayling  regarded  her  with  a 
curious  lack  of  intelligent  interest  or  comprehension.  Her 
thoughts,  also,  had  run  forward  into  the  gold  of  the  ap- 
proaching sunset;  and  she  had  some  difficulty  in  overtak- 
ing, or  restraining  them,  although  they  went  no  further 
than  the  Grand  Hotel;  and — so  to  speak — sat  down  there 
all  of  a  piece,  on  a  buff-coloured  iron  chair,  which  com- 
manded an  uninterrupted  view  of  four  gentlemen  stand- 
ing talking  before  the  front  door. 

"  On  Thursday?  "  she  repeated—"  Why  Thursday?  " 
— and  her  usually  skilful  hands  fumbled  with  the  fastening 
of  her  sable  cape.  Their  helpless  ineffectual  movements 
served  to  bring  her  to  her  senses,  bring  her  to  herself. 

"  Really  you  possess  an  insatiable  thirst  for  informa- 
tion regarding  my  probable  guests,  precious  child,"  she  ex- 
claimed. "  All — of  course  not.  I  have  only  portrayed  the 
heads  of  tribes  as  yet  for  your  delectation.  We  shall 
number  many  others — male  and  female — of  the  usual  self- 
expatriated  British  rank  and  file. — Derelicts  mostly." 

Lightly  and  coldly,  Henrietta  laughed. 

' '  Like,  for  example,  the  General  and  myself.  Wanderers 
possessed  of  a  singularly  barren  species  of  freedom,  without 
ties,  without  any  sheet-anchor  of  family  or  of  profession  to 
embarrass  our  movements,  without  call  to  live  in  one  place 
rather  than  another.  All  along  this  sun-blessed  Riviera 
you  will  find  them  swarming,  thick  as  flies,  displaying  the 
trumpery  spites  and  rivalries  through  which,  as  I  started 
by  pointing  out  to  you,  they  can  alone  maintain  a  degree 
of  individuality  and  persuade  themselves  and  others  they 
still  are  actually  alive." 

Shocked  at  this  sudden  bitterness,  touched  to  the  quick 
by  generous  pity,  regardless  of  possible  onlookers — here 
in  the  village  street,  where  the  hoof-beats  of  the  trotting 
horses  echoed  loud  from  the  house-walls  on  either  side — 
Damaris  put  her  arms  round  Henrietta  Frayling,  clasping, 
kissing  her. 

"Ah!  don't,  Henrietta,"  she  cried.   "  Don't  dare  to 


THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  FOREST     259 

say  such  ugly,  lying  things  about  your  dear  self.  They 
aren't  true.  They're  absurdly,  scandalously  untrue. — 
You  who  are  so  brilliant,  so  greatly  admired,  who  have 
everyone  at  your  feet!  You  who  are  so  kind  too, — think 
of  all  the  pleasure  you  have  given  me  to-day,  for  instance 
— and  then  think  how  beautifully  good  you've  been,  and 
all  the  time  are  being,  to  poor  Mr.  Wace  " 

Whether  Mrs.  Frayling's  surprising  lapse  into  sincerity 
and  bald  self-criticism,  were  intentional,  calculated,  or  not, 
she  was  undoubtedly  quick  to  see  and  profit  by  the  open- 
ing which  Damaris'  concluding  words  afforded  her. 

"  How  sweet  you  are,  darling  child!  How  very  dear 
of  you  to  scold  me  thus!  "  she  murmured,  gently  disen- 
gaging herself  and  preening  her  feathers,  somewhat  dis- 
arranged by  the  said  darling  child's  impetuous  onset. 

"  I  know  it  is  wrong  to  grumble.  Yet  sometimes — as 
one  grows  older — one  gets  a  dreadful  sense  that  the  de- 
lights of  life  are  past ;  and  that  perhaps  one  has  been  over- 
scrupulous, over-timid  and  so  missed  the  best. — That  is 
one  reason  why  I  find  it  so  infinitely  pleasing  to  have  you 
with  me — yet  pathetic  too  perhaps. — Why?  Well,  I  don't 
know  that  I  am  quite  at  liberty  to  explain  exactly 
why." 

Henrietta  smiled  at  her  long,  wistfully  and  oh !  so  sagely. 

"  And,  indirectly,  that  reminds  me  I  am  most  anxious 
you  should  not  exaggerate,  or  run  off  with  any  mistaken 
ideas  about  my  dealings  with  poor  Marshall  Wace.  I 
don't  deny  I  did  find  his  constantly  being  with  us  a  trial 
at  first.  But  I  am  reconciled  to  it.  A  trifle  of  discipline, 
though  screamingly  disagreeable,  is  no  doubt  sometimes 
useful — good  for  one's  character,  I  mean.  And  I  really 
have  grown  quite  attached  to  him.  He  has  charming  quali- 
ties. His  want  of  self-confidence  is  really  his  worst  fault — 
and  what  a  trivial  one  if  you've  had  experience  of  the 
horrid  things  men  can  do,  gamble,  for  example,  and 
drink." 

Henrietta  paused,  sighed.  The  yellow  fagade  of  the 
Grand  Hotel  came  into  sight,  a  pale  spot  amid  dark  trees 
in  the  distance. 


260  DEADHAM  HARD 

"  And  Marshall,  poor  fellow,"  she  continued,  "  is  more 
grateful  to  me,  that  I  know,  than  words  can  say.  So  d© 
like  him  and  encourage  him  a  little — it  would  be  such  a 
help  and  happiness  to  me  as  well  as  to  him,  dearest 
Damaris." 


CHAPTER  V 

IN  WHICH  HENRIETTA  PULLS  THE  STRINGS 

MRS.  FRAYLING'S  afternoon  party  passed  off  to 
admiration.  But  this  by  no  means  exhausted  her 
social  activities.  Rather  did  it  stimulate  them; 
so  that,  with  Damaris'  amusement  as  their  ostensible  ob- 
ject and  excuse,  they  multiplied  exceedingly.  Henrietta 
was  in  her  native  element.  Not  for  years  had  she  enjoyed 
herself  so  much.  This  chaperonage,  this  vicarious  mother- 
hood, was  rich  in  opportunity.  She  flung  wide  her  nets, 
even  to  the  enmeshing  of  recruits  from  other  larger 
centres,  Cannes,  Antibes  and  Nice.  This  more  ambitious 
phase  developed  later.  Immediately  our  chronicle  may 
address  itself  to  the  initial  Thursday,  which,  for  our 
nymph-like  maiden,  saw  the  birth  of  certain  illusions 
destined  to  all  too  lengthy  a  span  of  life. 

Luncheon  at  the  villa — or  as  Henrietta  preferred  it 
called,  The  Pavilion — set  in  the  grounds  of  the  Hotel  de 
la  Plage  and  dependent  for  service  upon  that  house — 
was  served  at  mid-day.  This  left  a  considerable  interval 
before  the  advent  of  the  expected  guests.  Mrs.  Frayling 
refused  to  dedicate  it  to  continuous  conversation,  as  un- 
duly tiring  both  for  Damaris  and  for  herself.  They  must 
reserve  their  energies,  must  keep  fresh.  Marshall  Wace 
was,  therefore,  bidden  to  provide  peaceful  entertainment, 
read  aloud — presently,  perhaps,  sing  to  them  at  such 
time  as  digestion — bad  for  the  voice  when  in  process — 
might  be  supposed  complete.  The  young  man  obeyed, 
armed  with  Tennyson's  Maud  and  a  volume  of  selected 
lyrics. 

His  performance  fairly  started  General  Prayling  fur- 
tively vanished  in  search  of  a  mild  siesta.  It  inflated  his 
uxorious  breast  with  pride  to  have  his  Henrietta  shine  in 

261 


262  DEADHAM  HARD 

hospitality  thus.  But  his  lean  shanks  wearied,  keeping 
time  to  the  giddy  music.  Wistfully  he  feared  he  must  be 
going  downhill,  wasn't  altogether  the  man  he  used  to  be, 
since  he  found  the  business  of  pleasure  so  exhaustingly 
strenuous.  And  that  was  beastly  unfair  to  his  lovely  wife 
— wouldn't  do,  would  not  do  at  all,  by  Gad!  Therefore 
did  he  vanish  into  a  diminutive  and  rather  stuffy  smoking- 
room,  under  the  stairs,  unfasten  his  nankeen  waistcoat, 
unfasten  his  collar-stud,  doze  and  finally,  a  little  anxiously, 
sleep. 

Whatever  Marshall  Wace's  diffidence  in  ordinary  inter- 
course, it  effectually  disappeared  so  soon  as  he  began  to 
declaim  or  to  recite.  The  histrionic  in  him  declared  itself, 
rising  dominant.  Given  a  character  to  impersonate,  big 
swelling  words  to  say,  fine  sentiments  to  enunciate,  he 
changed  to  the  required  colour  chameleon-like.  You  for- 
got— at  least  the  feminine  portion  of  his  audience,  almost 
without  exception,  forgot — that  his  round  light-brown  eyes 
stared  uncomfortably  much;  that  his  nose,  thin  at  the 
root  and  starting  with  handsome  aquiline  promise,  ended 
in  a  foolish  button-tip.  Forgot  that  his  lips  were  straight 
and  compressed,  wanting  in  generous  curves  and  in  tender- 
ness— an  actor's  mouth,  constructed  merely  for  speech. 
Forgot  the  harsh  quality  of  the  triangular  redness  on 
either  cheek,  fixed  and  feverish.  Ceased  to  remark  how 
the  angle  of  the  jaw  stood  away  from  and  beyond  the 
sinewy,  meagre  neck,  or  note  the  rise  and  fall  of  Adam's 
apple  so  prominent  in  his  throat. — No  longer  were  an- 
noyed by  the  effeminate  character  of  the  hands,  their  re- 
tracted nails  and  pink,  upturned  finger-tips,  offering  so 
queer  a  contrast  to  the  rather  inordinate  size  of  his  feet. 

For  the  voice  rarely  failed  to  influence  its  hearers,  to 
carry  you  indeed  a  little  out  of  yourself  by  its  variety  of 
intonation,  its  fire  and  fervour,  its  languishing  modula- 
tions, broken  pauses,  yearning  melancholy  of  effect.  The 
part  of  the  neurotic  hero  of  the — then — Laureate's  poem, 
that  somewhat  pinch-beck  Victorian  Hamlet,  suited  our 
young  friend,  moreover,  down  to  the  ground.  It  offered 
sympathetic  expression  to  his  own  nature  and  tempera- 


THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  FOREST     263 

merit;  so  that  he  wooed,  scoffed,  blasphemed,  orated, 
drowned  in  salt  seas  of  envy  and  self-pity,  with  a  simula- 
tion of  sincerity  as  convincing  to  others  as  consolatory  to 
himself. 

And  Damaris,  being  unlearned  in  the  curious  arts  of  the 
theatre,  listened  wide-eyed,  spellbound,  until  flicked  by 
the  swishing  skirts  of  fictitious  emotion  into  genuine,  yet 
covert,  excitement.  As  the  reading  progressed  Henrietta 
Frayling's  presence  increasingly  sank  into  unimportance. 
More  and  more  did  the  poem  assume  a  personal  character, 
of  which,  if  the  reader  were  hero,  she — Damaris — became 
heroine.  Marshall  Wace  seemed  to  read  not  to,  but  defin- 
itely at  her ;  so  that  during  more  than  one  ardent  passage, 
she  felt  herself  go  hot  all  over,  as  though  alone  with  him, 
an  acknowledged  object  of  his  adoring,  despairing  declara- 
tions. This  she  shrank  from,  yet — it  must  be  owned — 
found  stirring,  strangely  and  not  altogether  unpleasantly 
agitating.  For  was  not  this  protege  of  Henrietta 's — whom 
the  latter  implored  her  to  encourage  and  treat  kindly — 
something  of  a  genius?  Capable  of  sudden  and  amazing 
transformation,  talking  to  you  with  a  modesty  and  defer- 
ence agreeably  greater  than  that  of  most  young  men  of  his 
age;  then,  on  an  instant,  changing  at  will,  and  extraordi- 
narily voicing  the  accumulated  wrongs,  joys  and  sorrows 
of  universal  humanity?  Could  Henrietta,  who  usually 
spoke  of  him  in  tones  of  commiseration,  not  to  say  of 
patronage,  be  aware  how  remarkable  he  really  was? 
Damaris  wondered;  regarding  him,  meanwhile,  with  inno- 
cent respect  and  admiration.  For  how  tremendously  much 
he  must  have  experienced,  how  greatly  he  must  have  suf- 
fered to  be  able  to  portray  drama,  express  profound  emo- 
tion thus!  That  the  actor's  art  is  but  glorified  make-be- 
lieve, the  actor  himself  too  often  hollow  as  a  drum,  though 
loud  sounding  as  one,  never  for  an  instant  occurred  to  her. 
How  should  it? 

Therefore  when  Mrs.  Frayling — recollecting  certain  mys- 
teries of  the  toilet  which  required  attention  before  the 
arrival  of  her  expected  guests — brought  the  performance 
to  an  abrupt  termination,  Damaris  felt  a  little  taken  aback, 


264  DEADHAM  HARD 

a  little  put  about,  as  though  someone  should  be  guilty  of 
talking  millinery  in  church. 

For — "  Splendid,  my  dear  Marshall,  splendid,"  the  lady 
softly  yet  emphatically  interrupted  him.  "  To-day  you 
really  surpass  yourself.  I  never  heard  you  read  better, 
and  I  hate  to  be  compelled  to  call  a  halt.  But  time  has 
flown — look." 

And  she  pointed  to  the  blue  and  gold  Sevres  clock  upon 
the  mantelpiece. 

"  Miss  Verity  is  an  inspiring  auditor,"  he  said,  none 
best  pleased  at  being  thus  arbitrarily  arrested  in  mid- 
course.  "  For  whatever  merit  my  reading  may  have  pos- 
sessed, your  thanks  are  due  to  her  rather  than  to  me, 
Cousin  Henrietta." 

He  spoke  to  the  elder  woman.  He  looked  at  the  younger. 
With  a  nervous  yet  ponderous  movement — it  was  Marshall 
Wace's  misfortune  always  to  take  up  more  room  than  by 
rights  belonged  to  his  height  and  bulk — he  got  on  to  his 
feet.  Inattentively  let  drop  the  volume  of  poems  upon 
a  neighbouring  table,  to  the  lively  danger  of  two  empty 
coffee  cups. 

The  cups  rattled.  "  Pray  be  careful,"  Mrs.  Frayling 
admonished  him  with  some  sharpness.  The  performance 
had  been  prolonged.  Not  without  intention  had  she  ef- 
faced herself.  But,  by  both  performance  and  effacement, 
she  had  been  not  a  little  bored,  having  a  natural  liking  for 
the  limelight.  She,  therefore,  hit  out — to  regret  her  in- 
discretion the  next  moment. 

"  Nothing — nothing,"  she  prettily  added.  "  I  beg  your 
pardon,  Marshall,  but  I  quite  thought  those  cups  would 
fall  off  the  table— So  stupid  of  me." 

The  fixed  red  widened,  painfully  inundating  the  young 
man's  countenance.  He  was  infuriated  by  his  own  awk- 
wardness. Humiliated  by  Mrs.  Frayling 's  warning,  of 
which  her  subsequent  apology  failed  to  mitigate  the  dis- 
grace. And  that  this  should  occur  just  in  the  hour  of 
satisfied  vanity,  of  agreeable  success — and  before  Damaris ! 
In  her  eyes  he  must  be  miserably  disqualified  henceforth. 

But  his  misfortunes  worked  to  quite  other  ends  than  he 


THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  FOREST     265 

anticipated.  For  Damaris  came  nearer,  her  expression 
gravely  earnest  as  appealing  to  him  not  to  mind,  not  to 
let  these  things  vex  him. 

"  I  have  never  heard  anyone  read  so  beautifully,"  she 
told  him.  "  You  make  the  words  come  alive  so  that  one 
sees  the  whole  story  happening.  It  is  wonderful.  I  shall 
always  remember  this  afternoon  because  of  your  reading 
— and  shall  long  to  hear  you  again — often,  I  know,  long  for 
that." 

Wace  bowed.  This  innocent  enthusiasm  was  extremely 
assuaging  to  his  wounded  self-esteem.  „ 

"  You  have  but  to  ask  me,  Miss  Verity.  I  shall  be 
only  too  honoured,  too  happy  to  read  to  you  whenever  you 
have  leisure  and  inclination  to  listen." 

But  here  Mrs.  Frayling  put  her  arm  round  Damaris' 
waist,  affectionately,  laughingly,  and  drew  her  towards 
the  door. 

"  Come,  come,  darling  child — don't  be  too  complimen- 
tary or  Marshall  will  grow  unbearably  conceited. — You'll 
put  on  flannels,  by  the  way,  Marshall,  won't  you?  "  she 
added  as  an  afterthought. 

"  I  shall  not  play  tennis  this  afternoon,"  he  answered, 
his  nose  in  the  air.  "  There  will  be  plenty  for  a  change 
of  setts  without  me.  I  am  not  good  enough  for  Binning  and 
his  two  young  aristocrats,  and  I  don 't  choose  to  make  sport 
for  the  Philistines  by  an  exhibition  of  my  ineptitude.  I 
have  no  pretentious  to  being  an  athlete." 

"  Nonsense,  Marshall,  nonsense,"  she  took  him  up 
quickly,  conscious  his  reply  was  not  in  the  best  taste. 
"  You  wilfully  underrate  yourself." 

Then  later,  as,  still  entwined,  she  conducted  Damaris 
upstairs  to  her  bedchamber. 

"  There  you  have  the  position  in  a  nutshell,"  she  said. 
"  Still  am  I  not  right?  For  hasn't  he  charm,  poor  dear 
fellow,  so  very  much  cleverness — so  really  gifted  isn't 
he?" 

And  as  the  girl  warmly  agreed: 

"  Ah!  I  am  so  very  glad  you  appreciate  him. — And 
you  have  yet  to  hear  him  sing!  That  takes  one  by  storm, 


266  DEADHAM  HARD 

I  confess — Unhappy  Maud  Callowgas! — But  you  see  how 
frightfully  on  edge  he  is — how  he  turns  off  for  no  valid 
reason,  imagines  himself  a  failure,  imagines  himself  out 
of  it?  In  point  of  fact  he  plays  a  quite  passable  game  of 
tennis — and  you  heard  what  he  said?  These  fits  of  de- 
pression and  self-depreciation  amount  to  being  tragic. 
One  requires  endless  tact  to  manage  him  and  save  him 
from  himself." 

Henrietta  paused,  sighed,  sitting  on  the  stool  before  her 
toilette  table,  neatly  placing  tortoiseshell  hairpins,  patting 
and  adjusting  her  bright  brown  hair. 

"  I  could  have  bitten  my  tongue  out  for  making  that 
wretched  slip  about  the  coffee  cups;  but  I  was  off  my 
guard  for  once.  And  like  all  artistic  people  Marshall  is  a 
little  absent-minded — absorbed  to  the  point  of  not  seeing 
exactly  what  he  is  doing. — Poor  young  man,  I  sometimes 
tremble  for  his  future.  Such  a  highly  strung,  sensitive 
nature  amounts  almost  to  a  curse.  If  he  got  into  wrong 
hands  what  mightn't  the  end  be? — Catastrophe,  for  he  is 
capable  of  fatal  desperation.  And  I  must  own  men — with 
the  exception  of  my  husband  who  is  simply  an  angel  to 
him — do  not  always  understand  and  aye  not  quite  kind  to 
him.  He  needs  a  wise  loving  woman  to  develop  the  best 
in  him — there  is  so  very  much  which  is  good — and  to  guide 
him." 

"  Well,"  Damaris  said,  and  that  without  suspicion  of 
irony,  "  dearest  Henrietta,  hasn't  he  you?  " 

Mrs.  Frayling  took  up  the  ivory  hand-glass,  and  sitting 
sideways  on  the  dressing-stool,  turned  her  graceful  head 
hither  and  thither,  to  obtain  the  fuller  view  of  her  back 
hair. 

"  Me?  But  you  forget,  I  have  other  claims  to  satisfy. 
I  can't  look  after  him  for  ever.  I  must  find  him  a  wife  I 
suppose ;  though  I  really  shall  be  rather  loath  to  give  him 
up.  His  gratitude  and  loneliness  touch  me  so  much,"  she 
said,  looking  up  and  smiling,  with  a  little  twist  in  her 
mouth,  as  of  playful  and  unwilling  resignation,  captivating 
to  see. 

By  which  cajoleries  and   expression  of  praiseworthy 


THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  FOREST     267 

sentiment,  Henrietta  raised  herself  notably  in  Damaris' 
estimation — as  she  fully  intended  to  do.  Our  maiden 
kissed  her  with  silent  favour ;  and,  mysteries  of  the  toilette 
completed,  more  closely  united  than  ever  before — that  is, 
since  the  date  of  the  elder's  second  advent — the  two  ladies, 
presenting  the  prettiest  picture  imaginable,  went  down- 
stairs again,  gaily,  hand  in  hand. 


CHAPTER  VI 

CARNIVAL — AND    AFTER 

TALL  and  slim,  in  the  black  and  white  of  his  evening 
clothes,  Colonel  Carteret  leaned  his  shoulder  against 
an  iron  pillar  of  the  verandah  of  the  Hotel  de  la 
Plage,  and  smoked,  looking  meditatively  down  into  the 
moonlit  garden.     Through  the  range  of  brightly  lighted 
open  windows  behind  him  came  the  sound  of  a  piano  and 
stringed   instruments,    a   subdued   babble   of   voices,    the 
whisper  of  women's  skirts,  and  the  sliding  rush  of  valsing 
feet. 

To-night  marked  the  culmination  and  apex  of  Henrietta 
Frayling's  social  effort.  It  was  mid-March,  mid-Lent — 
which  last  fact  she  made  an  excuse — after  taking  ecclesi- 
astical opinion  on  the  subject,  namely,  that  of  Herbert 
Binning,  the  Anglican  chaplain — for  issuing  invitations 
to  a  Cinderella  dance.  Damaris  Verity,  it  appeared,  had 
never  really,  properly  and  ceremoniously  "  come  out  " — 
a  neglect  which  Henrietta  protested  should  be  repaired. 
Positively,  but  very  charmingly,  she  told  Sir  Charles  it 
must.  She  only  wished  the  affair  could  be  on  a  larger, 
more  worthy  scale.  This  was,  after  all,  but  a  makeshift — 
the  modest  best  she  could  arrange  under  the  circumstances. 
But  he — Sir  Charles — must  not  refuse.  It  would  give 
her  such  intense  pleasure  to  have  the  darling  child  make 
her  official  debut  under  her,  Henrietta's,  auspices.  The 
hours  would  of  necessity  be  early,  to  avoid  disturbance  of 
the  non-dancing  residents  in  the  hotel.  But,  if  the  enter- 
tainment were  bound  to  end  at  midnight,  it  could  begin 
at  a  proportionately  unfashionable  hour.  For  once  table 
d'hote  might  surely  be  timed  for  six  o'clock;  and  the 
dining-room — since  it  offered  larger  space  than  any  other 
apartment — be  cleared,  aired,  and  ready  for  dancing  by 

268 


THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  FOREST     269 

a  quarter-past  eight. — Henrietta  unquestionably  had  a 
way  with  her ;  proprietors,  managers,  servants  alike  hasten- 
ing obedient  to  her  cajoling  nod. — Thanks  to  importations 
by  road  and  rail,  from  other  coast  resorts,  she  reckoned  to 
muster  sixteen  to  twenty  couples. — A  rubbishing  apology 
at  best,  in  the  matter  of  a  "  coming  out  "  ball,  for  a  girl 
of  Damaris'  position  and  deserts — no  one  could  know  that 
better  than  she,  Henrietta,  herself  did ! 

"  A  poor  thing  but  mine  own,"  she  quoted,  when  en- 
larging upon  the  scheme  to  Charles  Verity.  "  But  as  at 
Easter  we  are  fated  to  scatter,  I  suppose,  and  go  our 
several  roads  with  small  promise  of  reunion,  you  must 
really  be  gracious,  dear  friend,  and,  for  old  sake's  sake, 
give  in  to  my  desires.  It's  my  last  chance,  for  heaven 
knows  how  long — not  impossibly  for  ever." 

Carteret  happened  to  be  present  during  the  above  con- 
versation. Had  he  not,  it  may  be  doubted  whether  it  would 
ever  have  taken  place — with  this  dash  of  affecting  remi- 
niscence in  any  case.  Allusions  to  a  common  past  were 
barred  for  excellent  reasons,  as  between  these  two  persons, 
save  strictly  in  public.  Even  so  it  struck  him  as  a  humor- 
ous piece  of  audacity  on  the  lady's  part.  Her  effrontery 
touched  on  the  colossal!  But  it  succeeded,  always  had 
done  so. — In  his  judgment  of  Henrietta,  Carteret  never 
failed  to  remember,  being  compact  of  chivalry  and  of 
truthfulness,  that  he  had  once  on  a  time  been  a  good  half 
in  love  with  her  himself. — All  the  same  he  was  not  sure 
her  close  association  with  Damaris  met  with  his  ap- 
proval. 

That  association  had  grown,  Jonah's  gourd-like,  during 
the  last  six  weeks,  until,  as  he  rather  uneasily  noted,  the 
two  were  hardly  ever  apart.  Luncheons,  teas,  picnics,  ex- 
cursions, succeeded  one  another.  Afternoons  of  tennis  in 
the  hotel  grounds,  the  athletic  gregarious  Binning  and  his 
two  pupils,  Peregrine  Ditton  and  Harry  Ellice  in  attend- 
ance. Sometimes  the  latter 's  sister,  Mary  Ellice,  joined  the 
company — when  Lady  Hermione  condescended  to  spare 
her — or  the  long-backed  Miss  Maud  Callowgas.  After- 
noons of  reading  and  song,  too,  supplied  by  Marshall  Wace. 


270  DEADHAM  HARD 

— Carteret  felt  self-reproachful,  yet  knew  his  charity  too 
often  threatened  to  stop  short  of  the  young  man  Wace 
— though  the  beggar  had  a  voice  to  draw  tears  from  a 
stone,  plague  him! — At  intervals,  all-day  expeditions  were 
undertaken  to  Monte  Carlo,  or  shopping  raids  upon  Cannes 
or  Nice. 

Yes,  verily — as  he  reflected — Henrietta  Frayling  did 
keep  the  ball  rolling  with  truly  Anglo-Indian  frivolity  and 
persistence,  here  in  the  heart  of  Europe!  And  was  that 
altogether  wholesome  for  Damaris?  He  delighted  to  have 
the  beautiful  young  creature  enjoy  herself,  spread  her 
wings,  take  her  place  among  the  courted  and  acclaimed. 
But  he  prized  her  too  highly  not  to  be  ambitious  for  her; 
and  would  have  preferred  her  social  education  to  be  con- 
ducted on  more  dignified  and  authorized  lines,  in  the 
great  world  of  London,  namely,  or  Paris.  When  all  came 
to  all,  this  was  hardly  good  enough. 

No  one,  he  honestly  admitted,  trumpeted  that  last  truth 
more  loudly  than  Henrietta — at  times.  Nevertheless  she 
went  on  and  on,  making  the  business  of  this  rather  second- 
rate  pleasure-seeking  daily  of  greater  importance. 
How  could  Damaris  be  expected  to  discriminate,  to  retain 
her  sense  of  relative  values,  in  the  perpetual  scrimmage, 
the  unceasing  rush?  Instinct  and  nobility  of  nature  go 
an  immensely  long  way  as  preservatives — thank  God  for 
that — still,  where  you  have  unsophistication,  inexperience, 
a  holy  ignorance,  to  deal  with,  it  is  unwise  to  trust  exclu- 
sively to  their  saving  grace.  Even  the  finest  character  is 
the  safer — so  he  supposed — for  some  moulding  and  direc- 
tion in  its  first  contact  with  the  world,  if  it  is  to  come 
through  the  ordeal  unscathed  and  unbesmirched.  And  to 
ask  such  moulding  and  direction  of  Henrietta  Frayling 
was  about  as  useful  as  asking  a  humming-bird  to  draw  a 
water-cart. 

He  was  still  fond  of  Henrietta  and  derived  much  silent 
entertainment  from  witnessing  her  manreuvres.  But  he 
was  under  no  delusion  regarding  her.  He  considered  her 
quite  the  most  selfish  woman  of  his  acquaintance,  though 
also  one  of  the  most  superficially  attractive.  Hers  was  a 


THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  FOREST     271 

cold,  not  a  hot  selfishness,  refined  to  a  sort  of  exquisite- 
ness  and  never  for  an  instant  fleshly  or  gross.  But  that 
selfishness,  in  its  singleness  of  purpose,  made  her  curiously 
powerful,  curiously  capable  of  influencing  persons  of 
larger  and  finer  spirit  than  herself — witness  her  ascendency 
over  Charles  Verity  during  a  long  period  of  years,  and 
that  without  ever  giving,  or  even  seriously  compromising, 
herself. 

Into  whoever  she  fixed  her  dainty  little  claws,  she  did 
it  with  an  eye  to  some  personal  advantage.  And  here 
Carteret  owned  himself  puzzled — for  what  advantage  could 
She  gain  from  this  close  association  with  Damaris?  The 
girl's  freshness  went,  rather  mercilessly,  to  show  up  her 
fading. 

At  times,  it  is  true,  watching  her  pretty  alacrity  of 
manner,  hearing  her  caressing  speech,  he  inclined  to  give 
her  the  benefit  of  the  doubt,  believe  her  self-forgetful,  her 
affection  genuine,  guiltless  of  design  or  after-thought.  If 
so,  so  very  much  the  better!  He  was  far  from  grudging 
her  redemption,  specially  at  the  hands  of  Damaris. — Only 
were  things,  in  point  of  fact,  working  to  this  commendable 
issue?  With  the  best  will  in  the  world  to  think  so,  he 
failed  to  rid  himself  of  some  prickings  of  anxiety  and  dis- 
trust. 

And  from  such  prickings  he  sensibly  suffered  to-night,  as 
he  leaned  his  shoulder  against  the  iron  pillar  of  the 
verandah  at  the  Hotel  de  la  Plage,  and  looked  down  into 
the  claire  obscure  of  the  moonlit  gardens,  while  over  the 
polished  floor  of  the  big  room  at  his  back,  the  rhythmical 
tread  of  the  dancers'  feet  kept  time  to  the  music  of  piano 
and  sweet  wailing  strings. — For  that  a  change  showed  in- 
creasingly evident  in  Damaris  he  could  not  disguise  from 
himself.  In  precisely  what  that  change  consisted  it  was 
not  easy  to  say.  He  discovered  it  more  in  an  attitude  of 
mind  and  atmosphere  than  in  outward  action  or  even  in 
words  said.  But  she  was  not  quite  the  same  as  the  grave 
and  steadfast  young  creature  who  had  asked  his  help  for 
her  father,  and  indirectly  for  herself,  in  the  moist  chill  of 
the  November  twilight  at  The  Hard — and  who,  receiving 


272  DEADHAM  HARD 

promise  of  such  help,  had  darted  away  over  the  drenched 
lawn  in  company  with  the  wildly  gambolling  cats  alter- 
nately pursuing  and  pursued.  Nor  was  she  quite  the 
same  as  when  he  had  walked  with  her,  through  the  re- 
sounding Paris  streets,  to  pay  her  devoirs  to  her  former 
guardians  and  teachers  at  the  convent  school;  and,  later 
returning,  had  spoken  to  her  of  the  safety  of  religion,  the 
high  worth  of  the  doctrine  and  practice  of  a  definite  his- 
toric creed. 

Her  relation  to  her  father  appeared — and  this  pained 
Carteret — to  lack  its  old  intimacy,  its  intensity  of  con- 
sideration and  tenderness.  Her  interest  in  the  child  of 
his  brain,  his  belated  literary  experiment,  was  less  sus- 
tained and  spontaneous.  How  could  it  flourish  in  its 
former  proportions  when  she  was  so  much  away,  so  often 
absent  from  morning  till  night? — Not  without  leave  though, 
for  she  scrupulously  asked  permission  before  answering 
Henrietta's  gay  call  and  taking  part  in  that  lady's  junket 
ings  and  jaunts.  Sir  Charles  never  refused  the  requested 
permission;  but,  while  granting  it,  did  he  not  tend  to 
retreat  into  his  former  sardonic  humour,  fall  into  long 
silences,  become  inaccessible  again  and  remote?  The  book 
went  forward;  yet,  more  than  once  recently,  Carteret  had 
questioned  whether  his  friend  would  ever  get  himself 
fairly  delivered  of  the  admirable  volume  were  not  he — 
Carteret — permanently  at  hand  to  act  midwife.  An  un- 
pleasant idea  pursued  him  that  Sir  Charles  went,  in  some 
strange  fashion,  in  fear  of  Damaris,  of  her  criticism,  her 
judgment.  Yet  fear  seemed  a  hatefully  strong  and  ugly 
word  to  employ  as  between  a  father  and  daughter  so 
straitly,  heretofore,  bound  to  one  another  in  love. 

And  then — there  lay  the  heart  of  the  worry,  proving  him 
only  too  likely  a  graceless  jealous  middle-age  curmudgeon, 
a  senile  sentimentalist,  thus  did  he  upbraidingly  mock 
himself — were  there  not  signs  of  Damaris  developing  into 
a  rather  thorough  paced  coquette?  She  accepted  the 
homage  offered  her  with  avidity,  with  many  small  airs  and 
graces — a  la  Henrietta — of  a  quite  novel  sort.  Old  General 
Frayling — poor  pathetic  old  warrior — was  her  slave. 


THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  FOREST     273 

Peregrine  Ditton,  Harry  Ellice,  even  the  cleric  Binning 
— let  alone  the  permanently  self-conscious,  attitudinizing 
Wace — with  other  newer  acquaintances,  English  and 
foreign,  ran  at  her  heels.  And  she  let  them  run,  bless  her, 
even  encouraged  their  running  by  turns  of  naughty  dis- 
dain and  waywardness.  She  was  fatal  to  boys — that  was 
in  the  natural  course  of  things.  And  fatal  to  those  con- 
siderably older  than  boys — perhaps 

The  music  flew  faster  and  faster — stopped  with  a  shriek 
and  a  crash.  Laughing,  talking,  the  dancers  streamed 
out  of  the  hot  brightly  lighted  room  into  the  soft  peace, 
the  delicate  phantasy  of  the  colourless  moonlight. 

Carteret  drew  back,  flattening  himself  against  the  iron 
pillar  in  the  shadow,  as  they  passed  down  the  steps  into 
the  garden  below;  the  women's  pale  airy  forms  and  the 
men's  dark  ones,  pacing  the  shining  paths  in  groups  and 
couples,  between  the  flower-beds,  under  the  flat-headed 
pines,  the  shaggy-stemmed  palms  and  towering  eucalyptus, 
in  and  out  massed  banks  of  blossoming  shrubs  and  dwarf 
hedges  of  monthly  roses. 

Midway  in  the  light-hearted  procession  came  Damaris, 
Peregrine  Ditton  on  one  side  of  her,  Harry  Ellice  on  the 
other.  Leaving  the  main  alley,  the  trio  turned  along  a 
path,  running  parallel  to  the  verandah,  which  opened  into 
a  circle  surrounding  the  stone  basin  of  a  tinkling  fountain, 
immediately  below  Colonel  Carteret 's  post  of  solitary  ob- 
servation. 

Damaris  carried  the  demi-train  of  her  white  satin  gown 
over  her  arm,  thereby  revealing  a  wealth  of  lace  frilled 
petticoat,  from  beneath  which  the  toes  of  her  high-heeled, 
white  satin  shoes  stepped  with  a  pretty  measured  tread. 
The  two  boys,  leaning  a  little  towards  one  another,  talked 
across  her,  their  voices  slightly  raised  in  argument,  not 
to  say  dispute. 

"  I  call  it  rotten  mean  to  bag  my  dance  like  that,  I  tell 
you. — Go  away? — No  I  swear  I  won't  go  away,  won't 
budge  one  blessed  inch  unless  Miss  Verity  actually  orders 
me  to.  If  my  dance  was  stolen,  all  the  more  reason  I 
should  have  her  to  talk  to  now  as  a  sort  of  make-up.  So 


274  DEADHAM  HARD 

you  just  clear  out,  if  you  please,  my  good  chap,  and 
leave  the  field  to  your  elders  and  betters.  Remove  your 
superfluous  carcass  till  further  notice. — Vamoose,  my  son, 
do  you  hear?  " 

This  excitedly  from  Peregrine  Ditton.  They  reached  the 
fountain.  Damaris  stayed  her  measured  walk,  and  stood 
gazing  at  the  jet  of  water  in  its  uprush  and  myriad  spark- 
ling fall.  Ellice  answered  chaffingly  yet  with  an  underly- 
ing growl ;  and  the  dispute  threatened  to  wax  warm.  But 
the  girl  heeded  neither  disputant,  her  attention  rapt  in 
watching  the  play  of  the  falling  water. 

Throughout  the  evening  she  had  easily  been  chief  centre 
of  attraction,  besieged  by  partners.  And  those  not  only 
her  present  rival  attendants  or  Marshall  "VVace;  but  by 
Mrs.  Frayling's  various  importations,  plus  Mr.  Alban 
Titherage — a  fat,  smart  and  very  forthcoming  young 
London  stock-broker,  lately  established,  in  company  of  a 
pretty,  silly,  phthisis-stricken  wife,  at  the  Grand  Hotel. 
Very  much  mistress  of  herself,  Damaris  had  danced 
straight  through  the  programme  with  an  air  of  almost 
defiant  vivacity.  Now,  as  it  seemed,  her  mood  had  changed 
and  sobered.  For  presently  Colonel  Carteret  saw  her 
bosom  heave,  while  she  fetched  a  long  sigh  and,  raising  her 
head,  glanced  upwards,  her  great  eyes  searching  the 
shadowed  space  of  the  verandah. 

The  cool  lunar  brightness  flooded  her  upturned  face, 
her  bare  neck  and  arms,  the  glittering  folds  of  her  satin 
gown.  She  was  exceedingly  fair  to  look  upon  just  now. 
For  an  appreciable  length  of  time  her  glance  met  Carteret 's 
and  held  it ;  giving  him — though  the  least  neurotic  of  men, 
calm  of  body  and  of  mind — a  strange  sensation  as  of  con- 
tact with  an  electric  current  which  tingled  through  every 
nerve  and  vein.  And  this,  although  he  perceived  that, 
dazzled  by  the  moonlight,  she  either  did  not  see  or  quite 
failed  to  recognize  him.  An  expression  of  disappointment, 
akin,  so  he  read  it,  to  hope  defeated,  crossed  her  face. 
She  lowered  her  eyes,  and  moved  slowly  forward  along 
the  path,  the  boys  on  either  side  her.  Again  Peregrine 


THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  FOREST     275 

Ditton  took  up  his  tale — in  softened  accents  though  still 
as  one  sorely  injured  and  whose  temper  consequently  in- 
clines not  unjustly  to  the  volcanic. 

"  Upon  my  honour,  I  think  you  might  have  given  me 
just  a  minute's  law,  Miss  Verity,"  he  protested.  "  It  was 
no  fault  of  mine  being  late.  Maud  Callowgas  kept  me 
toddling  to  the  most  unconscionable  extent.  First  she 
wanted  an  ice,  and  then  a  tumbler  of  lemon  squash;  and 
then  she  lost  her  fan,  or  pretended  she  did,  and  expected 
me  to  hunt  for  the  beastly  thing.  I  give  you  my  word  I 
was  as  rude  as  sin,  in  hope  of  shaking  her  off;  but  she 
didn't,  or  wouldn't,  see  what  I  was  driving  at.  There  was 
no  getting  away  from  her.  I  tell  you  she  sticks  like  a 
burr,  that  girl,  once  she  lays  hold  of  you.  Octopuses 
aren't  in  it.  Her  power  of  adhesion  is  something  utterly 
frantic  " 

Here  Ellice  cut  in  with  a  doubtless  scathing  though, 
to  Carteret,  inaudible  remark,  at  which  Damaris  laughed 
outright;  and  the  fresh  young  voices  trailed  away  in  the 
distance  alternately  mocking  and  remonstrant. 

As  he  listened,  still  conscious  of  contact  with  that  sur- 
prising electric  current,  Carteret  found  himself  taking 
stock  of  his  own  forty-nine  years  with  swift  and  lively 
repugnance.  To  accept  the  sum  of  them,  and  the  limita- 
tions and  restrictions  that  sum  is  currently  supposed  to 
entail,  proved  just  now  astonishingly  difficult.  Damaris, 
as  beheld  in  the  fantastic  loveliness  of  the  moonlight,  her 
searching,  unseeing  eyes  meeting  and  dwelling  upon  his 
own,  the  look  of  disappointment  and  defeat  crossing  her 
sweetly  serious  countenance,  wrought  upon  him  begetting 
a  dangerous  madness  in  his  blood.  That  it  was  dangerous 
and  a  madness,  and  therefore  promptly  to  be  mastered 
and  ejected,  he  would  not  permit  himself  an  instant's 
doubt.  Yet  it  very  shrewdly  plagued  him,  daring 
even  to  advance  specious  arguments  upon  its  own  be- 
half. 

For,  when  he  came  to  consider  matters,  was  he  not  in 
perfect  health,7  more  sound  and  fit  than  many  a  man  but 


276  DEADHAM  HARD 

half  his  age?  And  were  not  his  fortunes  just  now  at  a 
specially  happy  turn,  his  sister,  Mrs.  Dreydel,  having  lately 
been  blessed  with  a  windfall,  in  the  shape  of  yearly  in- 
come, which— did  he  so  choose — relieved  him.  of  much 
expenditure  on  her  account.  Her  eldest  son  had  received 
his  commission.  The  three  younger  boys  had  done  well  as 
to  scholarships  thereby  materially  reducing  the  cost  of 
their  education.  Never  had  he,  Carteret,  been  so  free  to 
consult  his  private  desires;  and  never,  as  he  knew  too 
profoundly  well,  had  his  desires  taken  so  definite  and  de- 
licious a  form.  Nevertheless  it  remained  a  madness  to 
be  mastered,  to  be  ejected. — His  last  thought,  as  his  first, 
pronounced  it  that. 

Unconsciously,  pushed  by  this  stress  of  rather  turbulent 
sensations,  Carteret  walked  the  length  of  the  verandah  and 
drew  up  in  the  full  glare  of  the  moonlight.  From  here  he 
could  see  the  curve  of  the  shore;  and,  beyond  the  quay 
and  esplanade  and  last  scattered  houses  of  the  little  town, 
the  lighthouse  marking  the  tip  of  the  western  horn  of  the 
bay.  He  could  hear  the  soft  stealthy  plunge  and  follow- 
ing rush  of  the  sea  up  the  white  shelving  beach.  Could 
hear  also — less  soothing  sound — through  the  open  windows 
of  the  drawing-room  of  the  Pavilion,  just  across  the  garden, 
Marshall  Wace  singing,  with  all  the  impassioned  fervour 
of  his  rich  and  well-trained  baritone,  a  ballad,  then  much 
in  vogue,  entitled  "  The  Lost  Chord."  The  words,  to 
Carteret 's  thinking,  were  futile,  meaning  anything,  every- 
thing, or  nothing,  according  to  your  private  interpretation 
of  them.  But  as  to  the  fine  quality  and  emotional  appeal 
of  the  voice  there  could  not  be  two  opinions,  as  it  palpi- 
tated thus  in  the  mild  night  air.  Was  Damaris  Verity  a 
member  of  the  singer's  devout  audience?  Were  her  hands 
among  those  which  now  enthusiastically  applauded  the 
conclusion  of  the  song?  Under  his  breath,  slowly,  gently 
but  most  comprehensively,  Carteret  swore.  And  felt  all 
the  better  for  that  impious  exercise,  even  amused  at  this 
primitive  expression  of  his  moral  and  sentimental  disturb- 
ance, and  so  on  the  high-road,  as  he  fondly  imagined,  to 
capture  his  habitual  attitude  of  charity  and  tolerance  once 


THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  FOREST     277 

again.  But  heaven  had  further  trial  of  his  fortitude  and 
magnanimity,  not  to  say  his  good  honest  horse  sense,  in 
store  to-night. 

For,  as  the  clapping  of  hands  died  down,  the  whisper 
of  a  woman's  dress,  upon  the  asphalt  of  the  verandah  just 
behind  him,  caught  his  ear,  and  Damaris  came  rapidly 
towards  him. 

"  So  you  are  here  after  all,  dear  Colonel  Sahib,"  she 
cried.  "  I  felt  you  were  when  I  was  down  there  looking 
at  the  fountain.  It  sort  of  pulled  at  me  with  remindings 
of  you  ages  and  ages  ago,  in  the  gardens  of  the  club  at 
Bhutpur — when  you  brought  me  a  present — a  darling 
little  green  jade  elephant  in  a  sandalwood  box,  as  a  birth- 
day gift  from  Henrietta.  Later  there  was  a  terrible 
tragedy.  An  odious  little  boy  broke  my  elephant,  on 
purpose,  and  broke  my  heart  along  with  it." 

Carteret  made  a  determined  effort  over  himself,  taking 
her  up  lightly. 

"  But  not  altogether  past  mending,  dear  witch — judging 
by  existing  appearances." 

"  Ah!  I'm  none  so  sure  of  that,"  Damaris  answered 
him  back  with  a  pretty  quickness — "  if  it  hadn't  been  for 
you.  For  I  was  very  ill,  when  you  came  again  to  the 
Sultan-i-bagh — don't  you  remember? — the  night  of  the 
riots  and  great  fires  in  the  Civil  Lines  and  Cantonments, 
just  at  the  breaking  of  the  monsoon." 

"  Yes,  I  remember,"  he  said. 

And  wondered  to  himself — thereby  gaining  ease  and  a 
measure  of  tranquillity,  inasmuch  as  he  thought  of  another 
man's  plight  rather  than  of  his  own — whether  Damaris 
had  knowledge  of  other  occurrences,  not  unallied  to 
tragedy,  which  had  marked  that  same  night  of  threatened 
mutiny  and  massacre  and  of  bellowing  tempest,  not  least 
among  them  a  vow  made  by  her  father,  Charles  Verity, 
and  made  for  her  sake* 

"  The  whole  story  comes  back  in  pictures,"  she  went 
on,  "  whenever  I  look  at  fountains  playing,  because  of  the 
water-jets  in  the  canal  in  the  Bhutpur  club  garden  where 
you  gave  me  Henrietta's  present.  You  see  it  all  dates  from 


278  DEADHAM  HARD 

then.  And  it  came  back  to  me  specially  clearly  just  now, 
partly  because  I  felt  lonely " 

"  Lonely? — How  lonely,"  he  smilingly  interjected, 
"  with  a  goodly  youth  as  a  protector  on  either  hand?  " 

"  Yes — lonely,"  Damaris  repeated,  ignoring  the  allusion 
to  her  devoted  if  irascible  escort.  "  Dance  music  always 
makes  one  rather  sad — don't  you  think  so?  It  seems  to 
ache  with  everything  one  wants  and  hasn't  got;  and  the 
ache  goes  on. — I  turned  homesick  for — for  India,  and  for 
my  green  jade  elephant  I  used  to  love  so  dreadfully  much. 
— I've  all  that  is  left  of  him,  still  wrapped  in  the  same 
rice  paper  in  the  same  sandalwood  box  you  brought  him  in, 
put  away  with  my  best  treasures  in  my  own  room  at  The 
Hard." 

She  came  nearer,  stood  beside  him,  bending  down  a  little 
as  she  rested  her  hands  on  the  top  of  the  iron  balustrade 
of  the  verandah,  while  her  eyes  followed  the  curve  of  the 
bay  to  where  the  lighthouse  rose,  a  black  column  with 
flashing  headpiece,  above  the  soft  glitter  of  the  moonlit 
sea. 

"  And  homesick,  Colonel  Sahib,  for  you,"  she  said. 

"  For  me?  "  he  exclaimed  almost  involuntarily,  roughly 
startled  out  of  his  partially  recovered  tranquillity  and 
ease. 

"  Yes  " — she  said,  looking  up  at  him.  "  Isn't  that  quite 
natural,  since  you  have  stepped  in  so  often  to  help  me  when 
things  have  gone  rather  wrong? — I  knew  you  must  be 
somewhere  quite  close  by.  I  sort  of  felt  you  were  there. 
And  you  were  there — weren't  you?  Why  did  you  hide 
yourself  away?  " 

Carteret  could  not  bring  himself  immediately  to  answer. 
He  was  perplexed,  infinitely  charmed,  distrustful,  all  at 
once — distrustful,  though  for  very  different  reasons,  both, 
of  himself  and  of  her. 

"  Are  things,  then,  going  rather  wrong  now?  "  he  asked 
presently. 

For  he  judged  it  wise  to  accept  her  enigmatic  speech 
according  to  its  most  simple  and  obvious  interpretation. 
By  so  doing  he  stood,  moreover,  to  gain  time;  and  time, 


THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  FOREST     279 

in  his  existing  perplexity  appeared  to  him  of  cardinal  im- 
portance. 

"  That's  just  what  I'm  not  sure  about."  Damaris  spoke 
slowly,  gravely,  her  glance  again  fixed  upon  the  beacon 
light  set  for  the  safety  of  passing  ships  on  the  further  horn 
of  the  bay.  "  If  I  could  be  sure,  I  should  know  what  to 
do — know  whether  it  is  right  to  keep  on  as — as  I  am. 
Do  you  see?  " 

But  what,  at  this  juncture,  Carteret  did,  in  point  of  fact, 
most  consciously  see  was  the  return  of  Henrietta  Frayling's 
scattered  guests,  from  the  Pavilion  and  other  less  fully 
illuminated  quarters,  towards  the  main  building  of  the 
hotel.  From  the  improvised  ball-room  within  chords  struck 
on  the  piano  and  answering  tuning  of  strings  invited  to  the 
renewal  of  united  and  active  festivity.  In  the  face  of  con- 
sequently impending  interruption  he  hazarded  a  trifle  of 
admonition. 

"  Dearest  witch,  you  elect  to  speak  in  riddles,"  he  gently 
told  her.  "  I  am  in  the  dark  as  to  your  meaning;  so,  if 
I  am  guilty  of  uttering  foolishness,  you  must  pardon  me. 
But  I  own  I  could  wish — just  a  bit — that,  in  some  particu- 
lars, you  wouldn't  keep  on — I  quote  your  own  words — as 
you  are,  or  rather  have  been  just  lately." 

"  Why?  "  she  asked,  without  moving. 

"  Because,  to  be  quite  honest  with  you,  I  am  not  alto- 
gether satisfied  about  your  father.  I  am  afraid  he  is  get- 
ting back  into  the  habit  of  mind  we  set  out  to  cure  him  of, 
you  and  I,  last  November." 

Damaris  sprang  to  attention. 

"  And  I  haven't  noticed  it.  I  wouldn't  stop  to  notice 
it.  I  have  been  too  busy  about  my  own  concerns  and  have 
neglected  him." 

Arrayed  in  her  spotless  virgin  finery,  her  head  carried 
proudly,  though  her  eyes  were  sombre  with  self-reproach, 
self-accusation,  and  her  lips  quivered,  she  confronted 
Carteret.  And  his  clean  loyal  soul  went  out  to  her  in  a 
poignant,  an  exquisite,  agony  of  tenderness  and  of  desire. 
He  would  have  given  his  right  hand  to  save  her  pain. 
Given  his  life  gladly,  just  then,  to  secure  her  welfare  and 


280  DEADHAM  HARD 

happiness;  yet  he  had  struck  her — for  her  own  good 
possibly — possibly  just  blindly,  instinctively,  in  self-de- 
fence. He  tried  to  shut  down  the  emotion  which  threatened 
to  betray  him  and  steady  on  to  the  playfully  affectionate 
tone  of  their  customary  intercourse;  but  it  is  to  be  feared 
the  effort  lacked  convincingness  of  quality. 

"  No — no,"  he  said,  "  you  take  it  altogether  too  hard. 
You  exaggerate,  dear  witch,  to  the  point  of  extravagance. 
You  have  been  less  constantly  with  your  father  than  usual 
— you're  the  delight  of  his  life  after  all,  as  you  must  very 
well  know — and  inevitably  he  has  missed  you.  Nothing 
worse  than  that.  The  damage,  such  as  it  is,  can  easily 
be  repaired. ' ' 

11  Ah!  but  the  damage,  as  you  call  it,  starts  behind  all 
that  in  something  else — something  older,  much  deeper 
down,  of  which  I  doubt  whether  any  lasting  reparation  is 
possible.  I  did  try  to  repair  it.  All  my  going  out  with 
Henrietta,  and  this  rushing  about  lately,  began  in  that 
trying — truly  it  did,  Colonel  Sahib.  And  then  I  suppose 
I  got  above  myself — as  poor  Nannie  used  to  say — and  came 
to  care  for  the  rushing  about  just  for  its  own  sake  " 

"  My  dance,  I  believe,  Miss  Verity." 

The  speaker,  Mr.  Alban  Titherage — well-groomed,  rosy 
and  self-complacent — pulled  down  the  fronts  of  his  white 
waistcoat.  He  inclined  to  distinct  rotundity  of  person,  and 
the  garment  in  question,  though  admirable  in  cut,  showed, 
what  with  the  exertions  of  dancing,  a  damnable  tendency, 
as  he  expressed  it,  to  "  ride  up." 

"  And  my  dance  next  afterwards,  Miss  Verity  " — this 
from  Peregrine  Ditton,  his  youthful,  well-bred,  if  some- 
what choleric,  countenance  presenting  itself  over  the  top 
of  the  stock-broker's  smooth  and  not  conspicuously  intel- 
ligent head. 

Damaris  looked  from  one  to  the  other  of  these  claimants 
for  her  favour,  with  instant  and  very  becoming  composure. 

"I'm  dreadfully  sorry,"  she  told  them  collectively, 
' '  but  surely  there  is  some  mistake.  Both  those  next  dances 
— they  are  the  last,  I'm  afraid,  too,  aren't  they? — belong 
to  Colonel  Carteret." 


THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  FOREST     281 

"  The  deuce  they  do!  "  Ditton  exploded,  turning  scarlet. 
With  a  cocked  eye  and  a.  jaunty  movement  of  the  head 
Mr.  Titherage  shot  out  his  right  shirt  cuff,  and  pointed  a 
stout  forefinger  at  certain  hieroglyphics  inscribed  on  its 
glossy  surface. 

"  Your  name,  Miss  Verity,  and  written  with  an  indelible 
pencil,  to  the  permanent  embellishment  of  my  best  party- 
going  linen  and  witness  to  your  infidelity." 

"  I  can  only  repeat  I  am  dreadfully  sorry,"  Damaris 
said,  with  a  becoming  air  of  concern,  "  if  the  confusion  has 
arisen  through  my  fault.  But  " 

She  appealed  to  Carteret. 

"  They  always  were  your  dances,  weren't  they?  " 

"  Without  doubt,"  he  affirmed. 

Amusedly  and  very  kindly  he  smiled  upon  the  angry  boy 
and  portly  young  man,  although  the  beat  of  his  pulse  was 
accelerated  and  his  throat  felt  queerly  dry. 

"  I  am  sure  you  understand  how  impossible  it  is  for  me 
to  release  Miss  Verity  from  her  promise,"  he  said  courte- 
ously. "  Would  you  willingly  do  so  yourselves,  were  the 
positions  reversed  and  either  of  you  happy  enough  to 
stand  in  my  shoes  at  this  moment?  " 

Titherage  gave  a  fat  good-tempered  laugh. 

"  By  George,  you  have  me  there,  Colonel.  Under  such 
Al  circumstances  catch  me  making  way  for  a  stranger! 
'Not  if  I  know  it." 

With  which  he  attempted  jovially  to  put  his  arm  through 
that  of  his  companion  in  misfortune  and  lead  Ditton  away. 
But  the  latter  flung  off  from  him  with  a  petulant,  half- 
smothered  oath ;  and,  his  back  very  straight,  his  walk  very 
deliberate,  pushed  through  the  cheerfully  discoursing 
throng  into  the  ball-room. 

Damaris  turned  about,  resting  her  hands  on  the  top  of 
the  iron  balustrade  again  and  gazed  out  to  sea.  Her  breath 
came  with  a  catch  in  it. 

"  Colonel  Sahib,"  she  said,  proudly  if  just  a  trifle 
brokenly,  "  are  you  angry?  " 

"  Angry? — good  Lord!  " 

Then  recovering  control  of  senses  and  of  sense — "  Btrt, 


282  DEADHAM  HARD 

dear  witch, ' '  he  asked  her — ' '  since  when,  if  I  may  venture 
to  enquire,  have  you  become  an  adept  in  the  fine  art  of 
— well— lying?  " 

Damans  looked  around,  her  face  irradiated  by  laughter. 

* '  And  you  played  up,  oh !  so  beautifully  quick !  I  was  a 
teeny  bit  afraid  you  might  fail  me.  For  the  idea  came 
all  of  a  minute,  there  wasn't  time  to  warn  you.  And 
that  was  fortunate  perhaps — for  me.  You  might  have  had 
scruples.  And  I  was  obliged  to  do  it.  After  talking  about 
the  things  which  really  matter,  I  couldn't  dance  with  that 
vulgar  little  man  again — or  with  those  jealous  boys.  They 
had  an  idiotic  quarrel,  actual  quarrel,  down  in  the  garden. 
It  displeased  me.  I  told  them  so,  and  left  them,  and  came 
here  to  find  you — because  of  the  fountain  and  the  sort  of 
home-sickness  it  gave  me." 

Between  laughing  and  crying,  Damaris  held  out  her 
hands,  the  white  moonlight  covering  her. 

"  Oh!  I  am  tired  of  rushing  about,"  she  said.  "  Come 
and  dance  with  me — it's  nonsense  to  tell  me  you  can't 
dance,  and  that  you've  forgotten  how,  because  you  have 
danced  once  this  evening  already — with  Henrietta.  I 
watched  you  and  you  dance  better  than  anybody. ' ' 

"  With  Henrietta — that's  rather  a  different  matter!  " 

* '  I  should  hope  it  was, ' '  Damaris  took  him  up  naughtily. 
<l  But  dance  with  me,  and  then,  then  please  take  me 
liome.  Yes,"  as  he  tried  to  speak.  "  I  know  I  had  ar- 
ranged to  stay  the  night  at  the  Pavilion.  But  I'll  find 
some  excuse  to  make  to  Henrietta — Haven't  you  just  told 
me  I  'm  proficient  in  lying  ? — You  were  going  to  walk  back  ? 
Why  shouldn't  I  walk  with  you?  I  won't  be  five  minutes 
changing  into  my  day  clothes.  It  would  be  so  fascinating 
down  on  the  shore  road  at  night.  And  I  should  get  quiet 
all  inside  of  me.  I  am  tired  of  rushing  about,  Colonel 
Sahib,  it  hasn't  been  a  success." 

She  stopped  breathless,  her  hands  pressed  over  her  lace 
and  satin  swathed  bosom. 

"  Now  come  and  dance, — oh!  so  beautifully,  please, 
come  and  dance." 


CHAPTER  VII 

TELLING  HOW  DAMARIS  DISCOVERED  THE  TRUE  NATURE  OP  A 
CERTAIN  SECRET  TO  THE  DEAR  MAN  WITH  THE  BLUE  EYES 

THE  beat  of  a  tideless  sea,  upon  the  shore,  is  at  once 
unrestful  and  monotonous;  in  this  only  too  closely 
resembling  the  beat  of  the  human  heart,  when  the 
glory  of  youth  has  departed.    The  splendid  energy  of  the 
flow  and  grateful  easing  of  the  ebb  alike  are  denied  it. 
Foul  or  fair,  shine  or  storm,  it  pounds  and  pounds — as  a 
thing  chained — without  relief  of  advance  or  of  recession, 
always  at  the  same  level,  always  in  the  same  place. 

Suspicion  of  this  cheerless  truth  was  borne  in  upon 
Carteret  as — bareheaded,  his  overcoat  upon  his  arm,  the 
night  being  singularly  mild  and  clement — he  walked  with 
Damaris  through  the  streets  of  the  silent  town.  The 
dwellers  in  St.  Augustin,  both  virtuous  or  otherwise,  had 
very  effectually  retired  to  their  beds  behind  drawn  cur- 
tains, closed  shutters,  locked  doors,  and  gave  no  sign. 
Vacancy  reigned,  bringing  in  its  train  an  effect  of  sus- 
pense and  eeriness,  causing  both  our  friends  involuntarily 
to  listen,  with  slightly  strained  hearing,  for  sounds  which 
did  not  come.  Once  a  cat,  nimble  and  thin,  streaked  out 
of  a  cavernous  side-alley  across  the  pallor  of  the  pavement 
and  cobbled  roadway,  to  be  swallowed  up  in  a  black  split 
— knife  narrow,  as  it  seemed — between  the  blank  house 
fronts  opposite.  And  once,  as  they  turned  into  the  open 
space  of  the  Grand  Place — unreal  and  stark  with  its 
spidery  framework  of  stalls,  set  up  ready  for  to-morrow's 
market,  under  the  budding  plane  trees — they  encountered 
a  tired  gendarme  making  his  round,  picturesque  of  aspect 
in  kepi  and  flowing  cloak.  His  footsteps  brisked  up,  as 
he  met  and  treated  them  to  a  discreetly  sympathetic  and 

283 


284  DEADHAM  HARD 

intelligent  observation,  only  to  lag  again  wearily  as  soon 
as  they  had  passed. 

These  were  the  sole  creatures  in  St.  Augustin,  save  them- 
selves, visibly  alive  and  awake.  Yet  whether  other  beings, 
•ther  presences,  immaterial,  imponderable,  intangible,  did 
not  walk  the  streets  along  with  them,  is  open  to  doubt. 
More  than  once  Damaris  shrank  close  to  Carteret,  startled 
by  and  apprehensive  of  she  knew  not  what.  For  who  dare 
say  in  such  a  place  what  leavings-over  there  may  not  be 
from  times  pre-Christian  and  remote,  when  mighty  Rome 
ruled,  and  the  ancient  gods  bore  sway  over  that  radiant 
coast?  On  the  outskirts  of  St.  Augustin  you  may  visit 
a  fine  amphitheatre,  still  perfect  save  for  some  ruin  along 
the  upper  tier  of  seats;  and  in  the  centre  of  the  town, 
within  a  stone's  throw  of  the  somewhat  gloomy  cathedral 
church,  may  trace  the  airy  columns  and  portions  of  the 
sculptured  architrave  of  a  reputed  temple  of  Venus,  worked 
into  the  facade  of  the  municipal  buildings. 

Turning  out  of  the  Grande  Place  by  an  avenue  on  the 
right,  Damaris  and  Carteret  gained  the  esplanade  follow- 
ing the  curve  of  the  bay.  Here  a  freshness  of  the  sea 
pleasantly  accosted  them  along  with  that  unrestful, 
monotonous  trample  of  waves  upon  the  beach. 

Not  until  they  reached  this  stage  of  the  homeward 
journey,  and,  setting  their  faces  eastward  naoed  the  pale 
level  asphalt  of  this  wide  promenade,  did  any  sustained 
effort  of  conversation  arise.  Thus  far  they  had  proffered 
fugitive  remarks  only,  lapsing  speedily  into  somewhat 
constrained  silence.  For  a  coldness,  or  shyness,  might 
appear  to  have  sprung  up  between  them,  oddly  holding 
them  asunder  in  thought  and  moral  attitude  after  the  close 
association  of  the  dance — a  reaction  from  its  contact  so 
surprisingly  more  intimate  than  any  they  had  yet  ex- 
perienced, from  that  harmonious  rhythmic  unity  of  purpose 
and  of  movement  which,  in  dancing,  alike  excites  emotion 
quasi-physical,  and  so  alluringly  serves  to  soothe  and  allay 
the  emotion  it  excites. 

These  aspects  of  their  association  affected  Damaris  but 
dimly,  since  speaking  a  language  of  which  she  barely  knew 


THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  FOREST     285 

the  alphabet.  Carteret  they  took  in  a  different  measure. 
He  read  their  direction  and  potency  with  clear  under- 
standing, the  insidious  provocations  and  satisfactions  of 
them  printed  in  large  type.  With  a  rush,  his  youth  re- 
turned and  troubled  him.  Or  was  it  the  phantom  of  youth 
merely?  His  heart-beats  but  the  beat  of  a  tideless  sea. 
He  feared  as  much. — Oh,  these  tardy  harvests,  these  tardy 
harvests — are  they  not  to  most  men  a  plague  rather  than 
a  benison,  since,  in  honour  and  fine  feeling,  so  abominably 
perilous  to  reap! 

For  the  greater  promotion  of  calm  and  of  sanity  he  wel- 
comed the  young  girl's  change  of  dress.  The  powder-blue 
walking  suit,  with  belted  jacket  and  kilted  skirt,  brought 
her  more  within  the  terms  of  their  ordinary  intercourse. 
But  the  impression  of  the  fair  young  body,  lately  so  close 
against  his  own,  clothed  in  bride-like  raiment,  fresh  as 
an  opening  flower  and  vaguely  fragrant,  could  not  easily 
be  dispelled.  Strive  as  he  might  to  put  it  from  him,  the 
impression  remained  recurrent.  Therefore  it  must  not 
be  held  to  Carteret 's  discredit  if  his  senses  took  part  with 
his  nobler  affections  just  now,  against  his  considered  judg- 
ment ;  or  that  he  fared  badly  at  the  hands  of  the  sea-born 
goddess — worshipped  here  in  her  temple  in  ancient  days, 
with  music,  with  dance  and  with  nameless  rites  of  sex, 
when  the  moon  rode  high  heaven  at  the  full,  even  as  to- 
night. 

Her  influence  was  still  abroad,  and  in  his  flesh  Carteret 
shrewdly  suffered  it ;  yet  neither  basely  nor  bestially,  being 
clean  of  life  and  of  spirit.  He  whipped  himself  even,  with 
rather  sorry  humour,  seeing,  in  Damans'  willingness  to 
entrust  herself  thus  to  his  sole  care  in  the  midnight  lone- 
liness, a  handsomer  compliment  to  his  morals  than  to  his 
manhood.  How  little,  bless  her,  she  knew  what  stuff  men 
are  made  of! — therein  underrating  her  acquaintance  with 
fact,  as  her  conversation  presently  and  surprisingly  proved 
to  him. 

The  revelation  began  in  all  apparent  innocence — for  : 

"I'm  not  ungrateful  to  Henrietta,"  Damaris  said,  break- 
ing silence  softly  yet  abruptly,  as  speaking  to  herself  rather 


286  DEADHAM  HARD 

than  addressing  him,  in  apology  and  argument.  "  And 
I'm  dreadfully  sorry  to  have  vexed  her — for  she  was  vexed 
with  me  for  not  staying  at  the  Pavilion  to-night,  as  I 
promised.  She  was  really  quite  cross." 

"  She  will  get  over  that — never  fear,"  Carteret  answered 
off  the  surface. 

"  Still  it  troubles  me  to  have  vexed  her.  I  must  have 
seemed  so  unreasonable,  making  silly  sounding  excuses — 
because  I  could  not  explain  to  her  why  I  really  wanted  so 
much  to  go  home." 

"  You  find  a  limit  to  the  dear  lady's  powers  of  compre- 
hension or  of  sympathy?  "  he  asked,  again  off  the  surface. 

"  I  suppose  I  must  do  so,  because  there  are  things  it 
never  occurs  to  one  to  speak  of  to  Henrietta." 

"  Whole  cartloads  of  them,"  Carteret  comprehensively 
agreed. 

"  And  yet  I  don't  know  why." 

"  Don't  you?  Well,  I  think  I  do  perhaps  know  why; 
and  knowing,  I  must  confess  to  being  not  altogether  sorry 
your  confidences  are  restricted,  dear  witch,  in  that  par- 
ticular direction." 

The  use  of  the  pet  name,  though  involuntary — possibly 
on  that  very  account — eased  his  fever.  Clearly  he  must 
get  back  to  their  former  relation.  Rejoice  in  her  beauty, 
in  her  sweet  faith  and  dependence,  love  her — yes — he  ad- 
mitted the  word, — but  for  God's  sake  keep  the  physical 
side  out  of  the  business.  Damaris'  easily-aroused  loyalty, 
meanwhile,  caught  alight. 

"  Oh,  but  we've  just  been  Henrietta's  guests,"  she  said, 
with  a  pretty  mingling  of  appeal  and  rebuke — "  and  it 
seems  hardly  kind,  does  it,  to  find  faults  in  her.  She  has 
been  beautifully  good  to  me  all  this  time,  ending  up  with 
this  dance  which  she  gave  on  purpose  to  please  me." 

"  And  herself  also,"  Carteret  returned. 

— Yes  decidedly  he  felt  better,  steadier,  to  the  point  of 
now  trusting  himself  to  look  at  his  companion,  notwith- 
standing the  strange  influences  abroad  in  the  magical 
moonlight,  with  his  accustomed  smiling,  half-amused  in- 
dulgence. The  unremitting  trample  of  the  waves,  there 


THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  FOREST     287 

on  the  right,  made  for  level-headedness  actually  if  a  little 
mercilessly — so  he  thought. 

"  I  don't  wish  to  be  guilty  of  taking  Mrs.  Frayling'a 
name  in  vain  a  second  time,"  he  went  on — "  you've  pulled 
me  up,  and  quite  rightly,  for  doing  so  once  already — but 
depend  upon  it,  she  enjoyed  her  ball  every  morsel  as  much 
as  you  did.  In  respect  of  the  minor  delights  of  existence, 
she  slumbers  not  nor  sleeps,  our  perenially  charming  and 
skilful  Henrietta." 

"  You  think  she  enjoyed  it  too?     I  am  glad." 

Then  after  an  interval  of  silence,  her  whole  figure  alert, 
her  speech  eager : 

"  See  there — see  there,  Colonel  Sahib — yes,  far,  far  out 
to  sea — aren't  those  the  lights  of  a  ship?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  answered — "  creeping  westward — bound  for 
Toulon,  most  likely,  or  possibly  for  Marseilles." 

And  he  would  have  moved  forward.  But  Damaris  un- 
accountably lingered.  Carteret  waited  a  good  three  to 
four  minutes  to  suit  her  convenience;  but  the  delay  told 
on  him.  The  night  and  hour  down  here  by  the  shore,  on 
the  confines  of  the  silent  town,  were  too  full  of  poetry,  too 
full  of  suggestion,  of  the  fine-drawn  excitement  of  things 
which  had  been  and  might  not  impossibly  again  be.  It 
was  dangerous  to  loiter,  and  in  such  company,  though 
waves  might  beat  out  a  constant  reminder  with  merciless 
pertinacity  upon  the  beach. 

' '  Come,  dear  witch,  come, "  he  at  last  urged  her.  ' '  We 
still  have  more  than  a  mile  to  go  and  a  pretty  stiff  hill  to 
climb.  It  grows  late,  you  will  be  abominably  tired  to- 
morrow. Why  this  fascination  for  a  passing  steamer, 
probably  some  unromantic,  villainously  dirty  old  tramp 
too,  you  would  not  condescend  to  look  at  by  daylight." 

"  Because," — Damaris  began.  She  came  nearer  to  him, 
her  expression  strangely  agitated. — "  Oh!  Colonel  Sahib, 
if  I  could  only  be  sure  it  wasn't  treacherous  to  tell 
you!" 

"  Tell  me  what?  One  of  the  many  things  it  would  never 
occur  to  you  to  confide  to  Mrs.  Frayling  ?  "  he  said,  trying 
to  treat  her  evident  emotion  lightly,  to  laugh  it  off. 


288  DEADHAM  HARD 

"  To  Henrietta?  Of  course  not.  It  would  be  unpardon- 
able, hateful  to  tell  Henrietta." 

She  flushed,  her  face  looking,  for  the  moment,  dark 
from  excess  of  colour. 

"  You  are  the  only  person  I  could  possibly  tell." 

Carteret  moved  aside  a  few  steps.  He  too  felt  strangely 
agitated.  Wild  ideas,  ideas  of  unholy  aspect,  presented 
themselves  to  him — ideas,  again,  beyond  words  entrancing 
and  sweet.  He  fought  with  both  alike,  honestly,  manfully. 
Returned  and  took  Damans'  hand  quietly,  gently  in  both 
his. 

"  Look  here,  dear  witch,"  he  said,  "  all  this  evening  a — 
to  me — unknown  spirit  has  possessed  you.  You  haven't 
been  like  yourself.  You  have  made  me  a  little  anxious,  a 
little  alarmed  on  your  account." 

"Oh!  it  isn't  only  this  evening,"  she  caught  him  up. 
"  It  has  been  going  on  for  weeks." 

"  So  I  have  seen — and  that  is  not  good  for  you,  isn't 
for  your  happiness.  So,  if  I  am — as  you  say — the  only 
person  you  care  to  acquaint  with  this  matter,  had  not 
you  better  tell  me  here  and  now?  Better  worry  yourself 
no  more  with  mysteries  about  it,  but  let  us,  once  and  for 
all,  have  the  thing  out?  " 

"  I  should  be  thankful,"  Damaris  said  simply,  looking 
him  in  the  eyes — "  if  I  could  be  sure  I  wasn't  sacrificing 
some  one  else — their  pride  I  mean — their — their  honour." 

For  a  few  seconds  Carteret  paused,  meeting  her  grave 
and  luminous  glance.  Then: 

"  I  think  you  may  risk  it,"  he  said.  "  I  promise  you 
this  some-one-else's  honour  shall  be  sacred  to  me  as  my 
own.  Without  your  direct  request  no  word  of  what  you 
choose  to  tell  me  will  ever  pass  my  lips." 

"Ah!  I'm  very  sure  of  that," — Her  smile,  her  voice 
bore  transparent  testimony  to  a  faith  which  went,  some- 
what giddily,  not  only  to  her  hearer's  heart  but  to  his  head. 
"It  isn't  a  question  of  your  repeating  anything;  but  of 
your  thinking  differently  of  some  one  you  care  for  very 
much — and  who  is  almost  as  dependent  on  you,  Colonel 
Sahib,  as  I  am  myself.  At  least  I  fear  you  might. — Oh! 


THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  FOREST     289 

I  am  so  perplexed,  I'm  in  such  a  maze,"  she  said.  "  I've 
nothing  to  go  on  in  all  this,  and  I  turn  it  over  and  over 
in  my  mind  to  no  purpose  till  my  head  aches.  You  see  I 
can't  make  out  whether  this — the  thing  which  began  it  all 
and  happened  oh!  long  ago — is  extraordinary — one  which 
you — and  most  people  like  you — in  your  position,  I  mean 
— would  consider  very  wrong  and  disgraceful ;  or  whether 
it  often  happens  and  is  just  accepted,  taken  for  granted, 
only  not  talked  about. ' ' 

Carteret  felt  cold  all  down  his  spine.  For  what,  in  God's 
name,  could  this  supremely  dear  and — as  he  watched  her 
grave  and  sweetly  troubled  countenance — supremely  lovely 
child,  be  driving  at? 

"  And  I  care  so  dreadfully  much,"  she  went  on.  "  It 
is  the  story  of  the  darling  little  green  jade  elephant  over 
again — like  its  being  broken  and  spoilt.  Only  now  I'm 
grown  up  I  don't  give  in  and  let  it  make  me  ill.  There 
was  a  time  even  of  that — of  illness,  I  mean — at  first  just 
before  you  came  to  The  Hard  last  autumn.  But  I  wouldn't 
suffer  it,  I  would  not  let  the  illness  go  on.  I  got  over 
that.  But  then  a  second  crisis  occurred  soon  after  we  came 
here;  and  I  thought  Henrietta's  kindness  opened  a  way 
out.  So  I  rushed  about  whenever  and  wherever  she  in- 
vited me  to  rush.  But  as  I  told  you  this  evening — just 
before  we  had  our  two  dances,  you  remember. ' ' 

"  Am  I  likely  to  forget!  "  Carteret  murmured  under  his 
breath. 

' '  The  rushing  about  has  not  proved  a  success.  I  thought 
it  would  help  to  stifle  certain  longings  and  keep  me  nearer 
to  my  father — more  at  one  with  him.  But  it  didn't,  it 

made  me  neglect  him.  You  see — you  see  " the  words 

were  dragged  from  her,  as  by  active  suffering  and  distress 
of  mind — "  I  had  to  choose  between  him  and  another 
person.  One  cannot  serve  two  masters.  I  choose  him. 
His  claim  was  the  strongest  in  duty.  And  I  love 
to  see  him  satisfied  and  peaceful.  He  always  ranked  first 
in  everything  I  felt  and  did  ever  since  I  can  remember; 
and  I  so  want  him  to  stay  first.  But  I  have  been  pulled 
two  ways,  and  seem  to  have  got  all  astray  somehow  lately. 


290  DEADHAM  HARD 

I  haven't  been  really  true  to  myself  any  more  than  to  him 
— only  frivolous  and  busy  about  silly  pleasures." 

"  Don't  let  the  frivolity  burden  your  precious  con- 
science," Carteret  comfortably  told  her,  touched  by  the 
pathos  of  her  self-reproach.  For  her  sincerity  was  surely, 
just  now,  unimpeachable  and  she  a  rare  creature  indeed! 
Love,  he  could  less  than  ever  banish ;  but  surely  he  might 
utterly  banish  distrust  and  fear? — "  As  frivolity  goes,  dear 
witch,  and  greed  of  pleasure,  yours  have  been  innocent 
enough  both  in  amount  and  in  quality,  heaven  knows !  ' ' 

"  I  should  like  to  believe  so — but  all  that's  relative, 
isn't  it?  The  real  wrongness  of  what  you  do,  depends 
upon  the  level  of  Tightness  you  start  from,  I  mean." 

' '  Insatiable  casuist !  ' '  Carteret  tenderly  laughed  at  her. 

And  with  that,  by  common  though  unspoken  consent, 
they  walked  onward  again. 

Even  while  so  doing,  however,  both  were  sensible  that 
this  resumption  of  their  homeward  journey  marked  a 
period  in,  rather  than  the  conclusion  of,  their  conversation. 
Some  outside  compelling  force — so  in  any  case  it  ap- 
peared to  Carteret — encompassed  them.  It  was  useless  to 
turn  and  double,  indulge  in  gently  playful  digression. 
That  force  would  inevitably  make  them  face  the  innermost 
of  their  own  thought,  their  own  emotion,  in  the  end.  In 
obedience  to  which  unwelcome  conviction,  Carteret 
presently  brought  himself  to  ask  her: 

"  And  about  this  other  person — for  we  have  wandered 
a  bit  from  the  point  at  issue,  haven't  we? — whose  interests 
as  I  gather  clash,  for  some  reason,  with  those  of  your 
father,  and  whose  pride  and  honour  you  are  so  jealously 
anxious  to  safeguard." 

"  His  pride,  yes,"  Damaris  said  quickly,  her  head  high, 
a  warmth  in  her  tone.  "  His  honour  is  perfectly  secure, 
in  my  opinion." 

"  Whose  honour  is  in  danger  then? — Dear  witch,  forgive 
me,  but  don't  you  see  the  implication?  " 

Damaris  looked  around  at  him  with  unfathomable  eyes. 
Her  lips  parted,  yet  she  made  no  answer. 

After  a  pause  Carteret  spoke  again,  and,  to  his  own  hear- 


THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  FOREST     291 

ing,  his  voice  sounded  hoarse  as  that  of  the  tideless  sea 
upon  the  beach  yonder. 

"  Do  you  mean  me  to  understand  that  the  conflict  be- 
tween your  father's  interests  and  those  of  this  other  person 
— this  other  man's — arise  from  the  fact  that  you  love 
him?  " 

"  Yes,"  Damaris  calmly  declared. 

' '  Love  him, ' ' — having  gone  thus  far  Carteret  refused 
to  spare  himself.  He  turned  the  knife  in  the  wound — 
"  Love  him  to  the  point  of  marriage?  " 

There,  the  word  was  said.  Almost  unconsciously  he 
walked  onward  without  giving  time  for  her  reply. — He 
moistened  his  lips,  weren't  they  dry  as  a  cinder?  He 
measured  the  height  to  which  hope  had  borne  him,  to-night, 
by  the  shock,  the  positive  agony  of  his  existing  fall.  At 
the  young  girl,  svelte  and  graceful,  beside  him,  he  could 
not  look ;  but  kept  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  mass  of  the  wooded 
promontory,  dark  and  solid  against  the  more  luminous 
tones  of  water  and  of  sky,  some  half-mile  distant.  Set 
high  upon  the  further  slope  of  it,  from  here  invisible,  the 
Grand  Hotel  fronted — as  he  knew — the  eastward  trending 
coast.  Carteret  wished  the  distance  less,  since  he  craved 
the  shelter  of  that  friendly  yellow-washed  caravanserai. 
He  would  be  mortally  thankful  to  find  himself  back  there, 
and  alone,  the  door  of  his  bachelor  quarters  shut — away 
from  the  beat  of  the  waves,  away  from  the  subtle  glory  of 
this  Venus-ridden  moon  now  drawing  down  to  her  setting. 
Away,  above  all,  from  Damaris — delivered  from  the  en- 
chantments and  perturbations,  both  physical  and  moral, 
her  delicious  neighbourhood  provoked. 

But  from  that  fond  neighbourhood,  as  he  suddenly  be- 
came aware,  he  was  in  some  sort  delivered  already.  For 
she  stopped  dead,  with  a  strange  choking  cry;  and  stood 
solitary,  as  it  even  seemed  forsaken,  upon  the  wide  grey 
whiteness  of  the  asphalt  of  the  esplanade.  Behind  her  a 
line  of  lamps — pale  burning  under  the  moonlight — curved, 
in  perspective,  with  the  curving  of  the  bay  right  away  to 
the  lighthouse.  On  her  left  the  crowded  houses  of  the 
sleeping  town,  slashed  here  and  there  with  sharp  edged 


292  DEADHAM  HARD 

shadows,  receded,  growing  indistinct  among  gardens  and 
groves.  The  scene,  as  setting  to  this  single  figure,  affected 
him  profoundly,  taken  in  conjunction  with  that  singular 
cry.  He  retraced  the  few  steps  dividing  him  from  her. 

"  Marriage?  "  she  almost  wailed,  putting  out  her  hands 
as  though  to  prevent  his  approach.  "  No — no — never  in 
life,  Colonel  Sahib.  You  quite  dreadfully  misunderstand." 

"  Do  I?  "  Carteret  said,  greatly  taken  aback,  while, 
whether  he  would  or  no,  unholy  ideas  again  flitted  through 
his  mind  maliciously  assailing  him. 

' '  It  has  nothing  to  do  with  that  sort  of  loving.  It  belongs 
to  something  much  more  beautifully  part  of  oneself — 
something  of  one's  very,  very  own,  right  from  the  very 
beginning. ' ' 

"  Indeed!  "  he  said,  sullenly,  even  roughly,  his  habitual 
mansuetude  giving  way  before  this — for  so  he  could  not 
but  take  it — contemptuous  flinging  of  his  immense  tender- 
ness, his  patient,  unswerving  devotion,  back  in  his  face. 
"  Then  very  certainly  I  must  plead  guilty  to  not  under- 
standing, or  if  you  prefer  it — for  we  needn't  add  to  our 
other  discomforts  by  quarrelling  about  the  extra  syllable 
— of  misunderstanding.  In  my  ignorance,  I  confess  I 
imagined  the  love,  which  finds  its  crown  and  seal  of  sanctity 
in  marriage,  can  be — and  sometimes  quite  magnificently  is 
— the  most  beautiful  thing  a  man  has  to  give  or  a  w.oman 
to  receive." 

Damaris  stared  at  him,  her  face  blank  with  wonder. 

Set  at  regular  intervals  between  the  tall  blue-grey 
painted  lamp  standards,  for  the  greater  enjoyment  of 
visitors  and  natives,  stone  benches,  of  a  fine  antique  pat- 
tern, adorn  St.  Augustin's  esplanade.  Our  much-perplexed 
maiden  turned  away  wearily  and  sat  down  upon  the  nearest 
of  these.  She  held  up  her  head,  bravely  essaying  to  main- 
tain an  air  of  composure  and  dignity;  but  her  shoulders 
soon  not  imperceptibly  quivered,  while,  try  hard  as  she 
might,  setting  her  teeth  and  holding  her  breath,  small 
plaintive  noises  threatened  betrayal  of  her  tearful  state. 

Carteret,  quite  irrespective  of  the  prescience  common  to 
all  true  lovers  where  the  beloved  object's  welfare  is  con- 


THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  FOREST     293 

cerned,  possessed  unusually  quick  and  observant  hearing. 
Those  small  plaintive  noises  speedily  reached  him  and 
pierced  him  as  he  stood  staring  gloomily  out  to  sea. 
Whereupon  he  bottled  up  his  pain,  shut  down  his  natural 
and  admirably  infrequent  anger,  and  came  over  to  the 
stone  bench. 

"  You're  not  crying,  dearest  witch,  are  you?  "  he  asked 
her. 

"  Yes,  I  am,"  Damaris  said.  "  What  else  is  there  left 
for  me  to  do? — Everyone  I  care  for  I  seem  to  make  un- 
happy. Everything  I  do  goes  wrong.  Everything  I  touch 
gets  broken  and  spoilt  somehow." 

"  Endless  tragedies  of  little  green  jade  elephants?  "  he 
gently  bantered  her. 

"  Yes — endless.  For  now  I  have  hurt  you.  You  are 
trying  to  be  good  and  like  your  usual  self  to  me ;  but  that 
doesn't  take  me  in.  I  know  all  through  me  I  have  hurt 
you — quite  dreadfully  badly — though  I  never,  never  meant 
to,  and  haven 't  an  idea  how  or  why. ' ' 

This  was  hardly  comforting  news  to  Carteret.  He  at- 
tempted no  disclaimer;  while  she,  after  fumbling  rather 
helplessly  at  the  breast-pocket  of  her  jacket,  at  last  pro- 
duced a  folded  letter  and  held  it  out  to  him. 

"  Whether  it's  treacherous  or  not,  I  am  obliged  to  tell 
you,"  she  said,  with  pathetic  desperation.  "  For  I  can't 
bear  any  more.  I  can't  but  try  my  best  to  keep  you, 
Colonel  Sahib.  And  now  you  are  hurt,  I  can  only  keep 
you  by  making  you  understand — just  everything.  You 
may  still  think  me  wrong ;  but  anyhow  my  wrongness  will 
be  towards  somebody  else,  not  towards  you. — So  please  read 
this,  and  don't  skip,  because  every  word  helps  to  explain. 
Read  it  right  through  before  you  ask  me  any  questions — 
that's  more  fair  all  round. — If  you  go  across  there — under 
the  lamp,  I  mean — there  still  is  light  enough,  I  think,  for 
you  to  be  able  to  see." 

And  Carteret,  thus  admonished — partly  to  pacify  her, 
partly  to  satisfy  a  very  vital  curiosity  which  stirred  in  him 
to  compass  the  length,  breadth,  and  height  of  this  queer 
business,  learn  the  truth  and  so  set  certain  vague  and  agi- 


294  DEADHAM  HARD 

tating  fears  at  rest — did  as  Damaris  bade  him.  Standing 
in  the  conflicting  gaslight  and  moonlight,  the  haunted  quiet 
of  the  small  hours  broken  only  by  the  trample  and  wash 
of  the  sea,  he  read  Darcy  Faircloth's  letter  from  its  un- 
conventional opening,  to  its  equally  unconventional  closing 
paragraph. 

"  Now  my  holiday  is  over  and  I  will  close  down  till 
next  Christmas  night — unless  miracles  happen  meanwhile 
— so  good-bye — Here  is  a  boatload  of  my  lads  coming  along- 
side, roaring  with  song  and  as  drunk  as  lords. — God  bless 
you.  In  spirit  I  Once  again  kiss  your  dear  feet  " 

Carteret  straightened  himself  up  with  a  jerk.  Looked 
at  Damaris  sitting  very  still,  a  little  sunk  together,  as  in 
weariness  or  dejection  upon  the  stone  bench.  His 
eyes  blazed  fierce,  for  once,  with  questions  he  burned  yet 
dreaded  to  ask.  But  on  second  thoughts — they  arrived  to 
him  swiftly — he  restrained  his  impatience  and  his  tongue. 
Mastering  his  heat  he  looked  down  at  the  sheet  of  note- 
paper  again.  He  would  obey  Damaris,  absorb  the  contents 
of  this  extraordinary  document,  the  facts  it  conveyed  both 
explicitly  and  implicitly,  to  the  last  word  before  he  spoke. 

Happily  the  remaining  words  were  few.  "  Your 
brother,"  he  read,  "  till  death  and  after  " — followed  by  a 
name  and  date. 

At  the  name  he  stared  fairly  confounded.  It  meant 
nothing  whatever  to  him. — That  is,  at  first.  Then,  rising 
as  a  vision  from  out  some  subconscious  drift  of  memory,  he 
saw  the  cold,  low-toned  colouring  of  wide,  smooth  and 
lonely  waters,  of  salt-marsh,  of  mud-flat  and  reed-bed  in 
the  lowering  light  of  a  late  autumn  afternoon — a  grey, 
stone-built  tavern,  moreover,  above  the  open  door  of  which, 
painted  upon  a  board,  that  same  name  of  Faircloth  figured 
above  information  concerning  divers  liquors  obtainable 
within.  Yes — remembrance  grew  more  precise  and  stable. 
He  recalled  the  circumstances  quite  clearly  now.  He  had 
seen  it  on  his  way  back  from  a  solitary  afternoon's  wild 
fowl  shooting  on  Marychurch  Haven;  during  his  last  visit 
to  Deadham  Hard. 

So  much  was  certain.    But  the  name  in  its  present  con- 


THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  FOREST     295 

nection?  Carteret 's  imagination  shied.  For,  to  have  the 
existence  of  an  illegitimate  son  of  your  oldest  and  dearest 
friend  thus  suddenly  thrust  upon  you,  and  that  by  a 
young  lady  of  the  dearest  friend's  family,  is,  to  say  the 
least  of  it,  a  considerable  poser  for  any  man.  It  may  be 
noted  as  characteristic  of  Carteret  that,  without  hesitation, 
he  recognized  the  sincerity  and  fine  spirit  of  Faircloth's 
letter.  Characteristic,  also,  that  having  seized  the  main 
bearings  of  it,  his  feeling  was  neither  of  cynical 
acquiescence,  or  of  covert  and  cynical  amusement;  but  of 
vicarious  humiliation,  of  apology  and  noble  pitying  shame. 

He  came  over  and  sat  down  upon  the  stone  bench  beside 
Damaris. 

"  Dear  witch,"  he  said  slowly,  "  this,  if  I  apprehend  it 
aright,  is  a  little  staggering.  Forgive  me — I  did  altogether, 
and  I  am  afraid  rather  crassly,  misunderstand.  But  that 
I  could  hardly  help,  since  no  remotest  hint  of  this  matter 
has  ever  reached  me  until  now." 

Damaris  let  her  hand  drop,  palm  upwards,  upon  the 
cool,  slightly  rough,  surface  of  the  seat.  Carteret  placed 
the  folded  letter  in  it,  and  so  doing,  let  his  hand  quietly 
close  down  over  hers — not  in  any  sense  as  a  caress,  but  as 
assurance,  of  a  sympathy  it  was  forbidden  him,  in  decency 
and  loyalty,  to  speak.  For  a  while  they  both  remained 
silent.  Damaris  was  first  to  move.  She  put  the  letter  back 
into  the  breast-pocket  of  her  jacket. 

"  I  am  glad  you  know,  Colonel  Sahib,"  she  gravely  said. 
"  You  see  how  difficult  it  has  all  been." 

"  I  see — yes  " 

After  a  pause,  the  girl  spoke  again. 

"  I  only  came  to  know  it  myself  at  the  end  of  last  sum- 
mer, quite  by  accident.  I  was  frightened  and  tried  not 
to  believe.  But  there  was  no  way  of  not  believing.  I  had 
lost  my  way  in  the  mist  out  on  the  Bar.  I  mistook  the 
one  for  the  other — my  brother,  I  mean,  for  " 

Damaris  broke  off,  her  voice  failing  her. 

"  Yes,"  Carteret  put  in  gently,  supportingly. 

He  leaned  back,  his  arms  crossed  upon  his  breast,  his 
head  carried  slightly  forward,  slightly  bint,  as  he  watched 


296  DEADHAM  HARD 

the  softly  sparkling  line  of  surf,  marking  the  edge  of  the 
plunging  waves  upon  the  sloping  shore.  Vicarious  shame 
claimed  him  still.  He  weighed  man's  knowledge,  man's 
freedom  of  action,  man's  standards  of  the  permissible  and 
unpermissible  as  against  those  of  this  maiden,  whose  heart 
was  at  once  so  much  and  so  little  awake. 

"  For  my  father,"  she  presently  went  on.  "  But  still  I 
wanted  to  deny  the  truth.  I  was  frightened  at  it.  For  if 
that  was  true  so  much  else — things  I  had  never  dreamed  of 
until  then — might  also  be  true.  I  wanted  to  get  away, 
somehow.  But  later,  after  I  had  been  ill,  and  my  father 
let  him  come  and  say  good-bye  to  me  before  he  went  to  sea, 
I  saw  it  all  differently,  and  far  from  wanting  to  get  away 
I  only  longed  that  we  might  always  be  together  as  other 
brothers  and  sisters  are.  But  I  knew  that  wasn't  possible. 
I  was  quite  happy,  especially  after  you  came  with  us, 
Colonel  Sahib,  out  here.  Then  I  had  this  letter  and  the 
longing  grew  worse  than  ever.  I  did  try  to  school  myself 
into  not  wanting,  not  longing — did  silly  things — frivolous 
things,  as  I  told  you.  But  I  can't  stop  wanting.  It  all 
came  to  a  head,  somehow  to-night,  with  the  dancing  and 
music,  and  those  foolish  boys  quarrelling  over  me — and 
then  your  showing  me  that — instead  of  being  faithful  to 
my  father,  I  have  neglected  him." 

"  Ah,  you  poor  sweet  dear!  "  Carteret  said,  greatly 
moved  and  turning  to  her. 

In  response  she  leaned  towards  him,  her  face  wan  in  the 
expiring  moonlight,  yet  very  lovely  in  its  pleading  and 
guileless  affection. 

"  And  my  brother  is  beautiful,  Colonel  Sahib,"  she  de- 
clared, "  not  only  to  look  at  but  in  his  ideas.  You  would 
like  him  and  be  friends  with  him,  though  he  doesn  't  belong 
to  the  same  world  as  you — indeed  you  would.  And  he  is 
not  afraid — you  know  what  I  mean? — not  afraid  of  being 
alive  and  having  adventures.  He  means  to  do  big  things 
— not  that  he  has  talked  boastfully  to  me,  or  been  showy. 
Please  don't  imagine  that.  He  knows  where  he  comes  in, 
and  doesn't  pretend  to  be  anybody  or  anything  beyond 
what  he  is.  Only  it  seems  to  me  there  is  a  streak  of  some- 


THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  FOREST     297 

thing  original  in  him — almost  of  genius.  He  makes  me  feel 
sure  he  will  never  bungle  any  chance  which  comes  in  his 
way.  And  he  has  time  to  do  so  much,  if  chances  do  come  ' ' 
— this  with  a  note  of  exultation.  "  His  life  is  all  before 
him,  you  see.  He  is  so  beautifully  young  yet." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

FIDUS  ACHATES 

IN  which  final  pronouncement  of  Damaris'  fond  tirade, 
Carteret  heard  the  death  knell  of  his  own  fairest  hopes. 
He  could  not  mistake  the  set  of  the  girl's  mind.  Not 
only  did  brother  call  to  sister,  but  youth  called  to  youth. 
Whereat  the  goad  of  his  forty-nine  years  pricked  him 
shrewdly. 

He  must  accept  the  disabilities  of  the  three  decades, 
plus  one  year,  which  divided  him  in  age  from  Damaris,  as 
final;  and  range  himself  with  the  elder  generation — her 
father's  generation,  in  short.  How,  after  all,  could  he  in 
decency  go  to  his  old  friend  and  say:  "  Give  me  your 
daughter."  The  thing,  viewed  thus,  became  outrageous, 
offensive  not  only  to  his  sense  of  fitness,  but  of  the  finer 
and  more  delicate  moralities.  For  cradle-snatching  is  not, 
it  must  be  conceded,  a  graceful  occupation ;  nor  is  a  middle- 
aged  man  with  a  wife  still  in  her  teens  a  graceful  spectacle. 
Sentimentalists  may  maunder  over  it  in  pinkly  blushing 
perversity;  but  the  naughty  world  thinks  otherwise,  put- 
ting, if  not  openly  its  finger  to  its  nose,  at  least  secretly  its 
tongue  in  its  cheek.  And  rightly,  as  he  acknowledged. 
The  implication  may  be  coarse,  libidinous ;  but  the  instinct 
producing  it  is  a  sound  one,  both  healthy  and  just. 

Therefore  he  had  best  sit  no  longer  upon  stone  benches 
by  the  sounding  shore,  in  this  thrice  delicious  proximity 
and  thrice  provocative  magic  of  the  serene  southern  night. 
All  the  more  had  best  not  do  so,  because  Damaris  proved 
even  more  rare  in  spirit,  exquisite  in  moral  and  imagina- 
tive quality — so  he  perhaps  over-fondly  put  it — than  ever 
before.  Carteret  got  on  his  feet  and  walked  away  a  few 
paces,  continuing  to  heckle  himself  with  merciless  honesty 

298 


THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  FOREST     299 

and  rather  unprintable  humour — invoking  even  the  historic 
name  of  Abishag,  virgin  and  martyr,  and  generally  letting 
himself  "  have  it  hot." 

A  self-chastisement  which  may  be  accounted  salutary, 
since,  as  he  administered  it,  his  thought  again  turned  to  a 
case  other  than  his  own,  namely,  that  of  Charles  Verity. 
To  pronounce  judgment  on  his  friend's  past  relations  with 
women,  whether  virtuous  or  otherwise,  was  no  business  of 
his.  Whatever  irregularities  of  conduct  that  friend's 
earlier  career  may  have  counted,  had  brought  their  own 
punishment — were  indeed  actually  bringing  it  still,  witness 
current  events.  It  wasn't  for  him,  Carteret,  by  the  smallest 
fraction  to  add  to  that  punishment;  but  rather,  surely,  to 
do  all  in  his  power  to  lighten  the  weight  of  it.  Here  he 
found  safe  foothold.  Let  him  invite  long-standing  friend- 
ship, with  the  father,  to  help  him  endure  the  smart  of  un- 
requited love  for  the  daughter.  To  pretend  these  two 
emotions  moved  on  the  same  plane  and  could  counter- 
balance one  another,  was  manifestly  absurd;  but  that  did 
not  affect  the  essence  of  the  question.  Ignoring  desire, 
which  to-night  so  sensibly  and  disconcertingly  gnawed  at 
his  vitals,  let  him  work  to  restore  the  former  harmony  and 
sweet  strength  of  their  relation.  If  in  the  process  he  could 
obtain  for  Damans — without  unseemly  revelation  or  in- 
vidious comment — that  on  which  her  innocent  soul  was 
set  he  would  have  his  reward. — A  reward  a  bit  chilly  and 
meagre,  it  is  true,  as  compared  with — Comparisons  be 
damned! — Carteret  left  his  pacing  and  came  back  to  the 
stone  bench. 

"  Well,  I  have  formed  my  own  conclusions  in  respect 
of  the  whole  matter.  Now  tell  me  what  you  actually  want 
me  to  do,  and  I  will  see  how  far  it  can  be  compassed,  dear 
witch,"  he  said. 

Damaris  had  risen  too,  but  she  was  troubled. 

"Ah!  I  still  spoil  things,"  she  wailed.  "  I  was  so 
happy  telling  you  about — about  Faircloth.  And  yet  some- 
how I've  hurt  you  again.  I  know  I  have." 

Carteret  took  her  by  the  elbow  lightly,  gently,  carrying 
her  onward  beside  him  over  the  wide  pallor  of  the  asphalt. 


300  DEADHAM  HARD 

"  Hurt  me,  you  vanitatious  creature!  Against  babes 
of  your  tender  age,  I  long  ago  became  hurt-proof  " — he 
gaily  lied  to  her.  "  What  do  you  take  me  for? — A  fledg- 
ling like  the  Ditton  boy,  or  poor  Harry  Ellice,  with  whose 
adolescent  affections  you  so  heartlessly  played  chuck- 
farthing  at  our  incomparable  Henrietta's  party  to-night? 
— No,  no — but  joking  apart,  what  exactly  is  it  you  want 
me  to  do  f  *r  you?  Take  you  to  Marseilles  for  the  day, 
perhaps,  to  meet  this  remarkable  young  sea-captain  and  go 
over  his  ship?  " 

"  He  is  remarkable,"  Damaris  chimed  in,  repeating  the 
epithet  with  eager  and  happier  emphasis. 

"  Unquestionably — if  I'm  to  judge  both  by  your  account 
of  him  and  by  the  tenor  of  his  letter." 

"  And  you  would  take  me?  Oh!  dear  Colonel  Sahib, 
how  beautifully  good  you  are  to  me." 

"  Of  course,  I'll  take  you— if  " 

"  If  what?  " 

"  If  Sir  Charles  gives  his  consent." 

He  slipped  Damaris'  hand  within  his  arm,  still  bearing 
her  onward.  The  last  of  the  long  line  of  gas-lamps  upon 
the  esplanade,  marking  the  curve  of  the  bay,  was  now  left 
behind.  A  little  further  and  the  road  forked — the  main 
one  followed  the  shore.  The  other — a  footpath — mounted 
to  the  left  through  the  delicate  gloom  and  semi-darkness 
of  the  wood  clothing  the  promontory.  Carteret  did  not 
regret  that  impending  obscurity,  apprehending  it  would  be 
less  embarrassing,  under  cover  of  it,  to  embark  on  certain 
themes  which  must  be  embarked  upon  were  he  to  bring  his 
purpose  to  full  circle. 

"  Listen,  my  dear,"  he  told  her,  "  while  I  expound. 
Certain  laws  of  friendship  exist,  between  men,  which  are 
imperative.  They  must  be  respected.  To  evade  them,  still 
worse,  wilfully  break  them  is  to  be  guilty  of  unpardonably 
bad  taste  and  bad  feeling — to  put  it  no  higher.  Had  your 
father  chosen  to  speak  to  me  of  this  matter,  well  and  good. 
I  should  have  felt  honoured  by  his  confidence,  have  wel- 
comed it — for  he  is  dearer  to  me  than  any  man  living  and 
always  must  be. — But  the  initiative  has  to  come  from  him. 


THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  FOREST     301 

Till  he  speaks  I  am  dumb.  For  me  to  approach  the  sub- 
ject first  is  not  possible." 

"  Then  the  whole  beautiful  plan  falls  through,"  she 
said  brokenly. 

"  No,  not  at  all,  very  far  from  that,"  he  comforted 
her.  "  I  gather  you  have  already  discussed  it  with  your 
father.  You  must  lay  hold  of  your  courage  and  discuss  it 
again.  I  know  that  won't  be  easy;  but  you  owe  it  to  him 
to  be  straightforward,  owe  it  to  his  peculiar  devotion  to 
you.  Some  day,  perhaps,  when  you  are  older  and  more 
ripe  in  experience,  I  may  tell  you,  in  plain  language  of  a 
vow  he  once  made  for  your  sake — when  he  was  in  his 
prime,  too,  his  life  strong  in  him,  his  powers  at  their 
height.  Some  persons  might  consider  his  action  exag- 
gerated and  fanatical.  But  such  accusations  can  be  brought 
against  most  actions  really  heroic.  And  that  this  action, 
specially  in  a  man  of  his  temperament,  may  claim  to  be 
heroic  there  can  be,  in  my  opinion,  no  manner  of  doubt." 

The  path  climbed  steeply  through  the  pine  wood. 
Damans'  hand  grew  heavy  on  Carteret's  arm.  Once  she 
stumbled,  and  clung  to  him  in  recovering  her  footing, 
thereby  sending  an  electric  current  tingling  through  his 
nerves  again. 

"  He  did  what  was  painful,  you  mean,  and  for  my 
sake?  " 

"  Say  rather  gave  up  something  very  much  the  reverse 
of  painful,"  Carteret  answered,  his  voice  not  altogether 
under  control,  so  that  it  struck  away,  loud  and  jarring, 
between  the  still  ranks  of  the  tree-trunks  to  right  and  left. 

"  Which  is  harder?  " 

"  Which  is  much  harder — immeasurably,  incalculably 
harder,  dearest  witch." 

After  a  space  of  silence,  wherein  the  pines,  lightly  stirred 
by  some  fugitive  up-draught  off  the  sea,  murmured  dusky 
secrets  in  the  vault  of  interlacing  branches  overhead, 
Carteret  spoke  again.  He  had  his  voice  under  control 
now.  Yet,  to  Damaris'  hearing,  his  utterance  was  perme- 
ated by  an  urgency  and  gravity  almost  awe-inspiring,  here 
in  the  loneliness  and  obscurity  of  the  wood.  She  went  in 


302  DEADHAM  HARD 

sudden  questioning,  incomprehensible  fear  of  the  dear 
man  with  the  blue  eyes.  His  arm  was  steady  beneath  her 
hand,  supporting  her.  His  care  and  protection  sensibly 
encircled  her,  yet  he  seemed  to  her  thousands  of  miles 
away,  speaking  from  out  some  depth  of  knowledge  and  of 
reality  which  hopelessly  transcended  her  experience.  She 
felt  strangely  diffident,  strangely  ignorant.  Felt,  though 
she  had  no  name  for  it,  the  mystical  empire,  mystical  terror 
of  sex  as  sex. 

"  The  night  of  the  breaking  of  the  monsoon,  of  those 
riotings  and  fires  at  Bhutpur,  your  father  bartered  his 
birthright,  in  a  certain  particular,  against  your  restoration 
to  health.  The  exact  nature  of  that  renunciation  I  can- 
not explain  to  you.  The  whole  transaction  lies  beyond 
the  range  of  ordinary  endeavour;  and  savours  of  the 
transcendental — or  the  superstitious,  if  you  please  to  take 
it  that  way.  But  call  it  by  what  name  you  will,  his  ex- 
travagant gamble  with  the  Lords  of  Life  and  Death  worked, 
apparently.  For'  you  got  well ;  and  you  have  stayed  well, 
dear  witch — thanks  to  those  same  Lords  of  Life  and  Death, 
whose  favour  your  father  attempted  to  buy  with  this  act 
of  personal  sacrifice.  He  was  willing  to  pay  a  price  most 
men  would  consider  prohibitive  to  secure  your  recovery. 
And,  with  an  unswerving  sense  of  honour,  he  has  gone  on 
paying,  until  that  which,  at  the  start,  must  have  amounted 
to  pretty  severe  discipline  has  crystallized  into  habit. 
What  you  tell  me  of  this  young  man,  Darcy  Faircloth's 
history,  goes,  indirectly,  to  strengthen  my  admiration  for 
your  father's  self-denying  ordinance,  both  in  proposing 
and  in  maintaining  this  strange  payment." 

There — it  was  finished,  his  special  pleading.  ^Carteret 
felt  unfeignedly  glad.  He  was  unaccustomed  to  put  forth 
such  elaborate  expositions,  more  particularly  of  a  delicate 
nature  and  therefore  offering  much  to  avoid  as  well  as 
much  to  state. 

"  So  you  are  bound  to  play  a  straight  game  with  him — 
dear  child.  Believe  me  he  deserves  it,  is  finely  worthy  of  it. 
Be  open  with  him.  Show  him  your  letter.  Ask  his  per- 
mission— if  you  have  sufficient  courage.  Your  courage 


THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  FOREST     303 

is  the  measure  of  the  sincerity  of  your  desire  in  this  busi- 
ness. Do  you  follow  me?  " 

"  Yes — but  I  shall  distress  him,"  Damaris  mournfully 
argued. 

She  was  bewildered,  and  in  her  bewilderment  held  to 
the  immediate  and  obvious. 

"  Less  than  by  shutting  him  out  from  your  confidence, 
by  keeping  him  at  arm's  length." 

"  Neglecting  him?  " 

' '  Ah !  so  that  rankles  still,  does  it  ?  Yes,  neglecting  him 
just  a  trifle,  perhaps." 

"  But  the  neglect  is  over — indeed,  it  is  over  and  utterly 
done  with." 

And  in  the  ardour  of  her  disclaimer,  Damaris  pressed 
against  Carteret,  her  face  upturned  and,  since  she  too  was 
tall,  very  close  to  his. 

"  Just  because  it  is  over  and  done  with  I  begged  you  to 
bring  me  back  with  you  to-night.  I  wanted  to  make  a 
clean  break  with  all  the  frivolities,  while  everything  was 
quite  clear  to  me.  I  wanted,  while  I  still  belonged  to  you, 
Colonel  Sahib,  through  our  so  beautifully  dancing  together 
twice  " 

"  God  in  Heaven !  "  Carteret  said  under  his  breath.  For 
what  a  past-master  in  the  art  of  the  torturer  is  your  white 
souled  maiden  at  moments! 

"  To  go  right  away  from  all  that  rushing  about  worldli- 
ness — I  don't  blame  Henrietta — she  has  been  sweet  to  me — 
but  it  is  worldliness,  rather,  isn't  it? — and  to  be  true  to 
him  again  and  true  to  myself.  I  wanted  to  return  to  my 
allegiance.  You  believe  me,  don't  you?  You  made  me  see, 
Colonel  Sahib,  you  brought  my  foolishness  home  to  me — 
Oh!  yes,  I  owe  you  endless  gratitude  and  thanks.  But  I 
was  uneasy  already.  I  needed  a  wholesome  shove,  and 
you  gave  it.  And  now  you  deliver  a  much-needed  sup- 
plementary shove — one  to  my  courage.  I  obey  you,  Colonel 
Sahib,  without  question  or  reservation — not  on  the  chance 
of  getting  what  I  long  for;  but  because  you  have  con- 
vinced me  of  what  is  right.  I  will  tell  him — tell  my  father 
— all  about  everything — to-morrow." 


304  DEADHAM  HARD 

"  It  is  now  to-morrow — and,  with  the  night,  many 
dreams  have  packed  up  their  traps  and  fled." 

"  But  we  needn't  be  sorry  for  that,"  Damaris  declared, 
in  prettily  rising  confidence.  "  The  truth  is  going  to  be 
better  than  the  dreams,  isn't  it?  " 

"  For  you,  yes — with  all  my  heart,  I  hope." 

"  But  for  you — why  not  for  you?  "  she  cried,  smitten  by 
anxiety  regarding  him  and  by  swift  tenderness. 

They  had  reached  the  end  of  the  upward  climbing  path, 
and  stepped  from  the  semi-darkness  of  the  wood  into  the 
greater  clarity  of  the  gravel  terrace  in  front  of  the  hotel. 
Far  below  unseen  waves  again  beat  upon  the  beach.  The 
sound  reached  them  faintly.  The  dome  of  the  sky,  thick 
sown  with  stars,  appeared  prodigious  in  expanse  and  in 
height.  It  dwarfed  the  block  of  hotel  buildings  upon  the 
right.  Dwarfed  all  visible  things,  the  whole  earth,  indeed, 
which  it  so  sensibly  enclosed.  Dwarfed  also,  and  that  to 
the  point  of  desolation,  the  purposes  and  activities  of  in- 
dividual human  lives.  How  could  these  count,  what  could 
they  matter  in  presence  of  the  countless  worlds  swinging, 
there,  through  the  illimitable  fields  of  space? 

To  Carteret  this  thought,  or  rather  this  sensation,  of 
human  insignificance  brought  a  measure  of  stoic  consola- 
tion. He  lifted  Damaris'  hand  off  his  arm,  and  held  it, 
while  he  said,  smiling  at  her: 

"  For  me — yes,  of  course.  Why  not?  For  me  too, 
dearest  witch,  truth  is  assuredly  the  most  profitable  bed- 
fellow." 

Then,  as  she  shrank,  drawing  away  a  little,  startled  by 
the  crudeness  of  the  expression: 

"  I  enjoyed  our  two  dances,"  he  told  her,  "  and  I  shall 
enjoy  taking  you  to  Marseilles  and  making  Faircloth's 
acquaintance,  if  our  little  scheme  works  out  successfully — 
if  it  is  sanctioned,  permitted.  After  that — other  things 
being  equal — I  think  I  ought  to  break  camp  and  journey 
back  to  England,  to  look  after  my  property  and  my  sister's 
affairs.  I  have  gadded  long  enough.  It  is  time  to  get  into 
harness — such  harness  as  claims  me  in  these  all  too  easy- 
going days.  And  now  you  must  really  go  indoors  without 


THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  FOREST     305 

further  delay,  and  go  to  bed.  May  the  four  angels  of 
pious  tradition  stand  at  the  four  corners  of  it,  to  keep 
you  safe  in  body,  soul  and  spirit.  Sleep  the  sleep  of  inno- 
cence and  wake  radiant  and  refreshed." 

"Ah!  but  you're  sad — you  are  sad,"  Damaris  cried, 
her  lips  quivering.  "  Can't  I  do  anything? — I  would  do 
so  much,  would  love  so  much — beyond  anything — to  make 
you  unsad. " 

The  man  with  the  blue  eyes  shook  his  head. 

' '  Impossible,  alas !  Your  intervention,  in  this  case,  is 
finally  ruled  out,  my  sweet  lamb,"  he  affectionately,  but 
conclusively  said. 


CHAPTER  IX 

WHICH  FEATUR2S  VARIOUS  PERSONS  WITH  WHOM  THE  READER 
IS    ALREADY    ACQUAINTED 

SOME  are  born  great,  some  attain  greatness,  and  some 
have  it  thrust  upon  them  to  the  lively  embarrassment 
of  their  humble  and  retiring  little  souls.  To  his  own 
notable  surprise,  General  Frayling,  on  the  morning  fol- 
lowing his  wife's  Cinderella  dance,  awoke  to  find  himself 
the  centre  of  interest  in  the  life  of  the  pretty  pavilion 
situated  in  the  grounds  of  the  Hotel  de  la  Plage.  He  owed 
this  unaccustomed  ascendency  to  physical  rather  than 
moral  or  intellectual  causes,  being  possessed  of  a  tempera- 
ture, the  complexion  of  the  proverbial  guinea,  and  violent 
pains  in  his  loins  and  his  back. 

These  anxious  symptoms  developed — one  cannot  but  feel 
rather  unjustly — as  the  consequence  of  his  own  politeness, 
his  amenity  of  manner,  and  the  patient  attentions  he  paid 
on  the  previous  evening  to  one  of  his  wife 's  guests.  He  had 
sat  altogether  too  long  for  personal  comfort  in  a  draughty 
corner  of  the  hotel  garden,  with  Mrs.  Callowgas.  Affected 
by  the  poetic  influences  of  moon,  stars,  and  sea,  affected 
also  conceivably  by  pagan  amorous  influences,  naughtily 
emanating  from  the  neighbouring  Venus  Temple — whose 
elegant  tapering  columns  adorn  the  facade  of  the  local 
Mairie — Mrs.  Callowgas  became  extensively  reminiscent  of 
her  dear  dead  Lord  Bishop.  Protracted  anecdotes  of  visita- 
tions and  confirmation  tours,  excerpts  from  his  sermons, 
speeches  and  charges,  arch  revelations  of  his  diurnal  and 
nocturnal  conversation  and  habits — the  latter  tedious  to 
the  point  of  tears  when  not  slightly  immodest — poured 
from  her  widowed  lips.  The  good  lady  overflowed.  She 
frankly  babbled.  General  Frayling  listened,  outwardly 
interested  and  civil,  inwardly  deploring  that  he  had  omitted 

306 


THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  FOREST     307 

to  put  on  a  waistcoat  back-lined  with  flannel — waxing 
momentarily  more  conscious,  also,  that  the  iron — of  the 
hard  cold  slats  composing  the  seat  of  his  garden  chair — if 
not  entering  into  his  soul,  was  actively  entering  a  less 
august  and  more  material  portion  of  his  being  through  the 
slack  of  his  thin  evening  trousers.  He  endured  both 
tedium  and  bodily  suffering  with  the  fortitude  of  a  saint 
and  martyr;  but  next  morning  revealed  him  victim  of  a 
violent  chill  demanding  medical  aid. 

The  native  local  practitioner  was  reported  mono-lingual, 
and  of  small  scientific  reputation ;  while  our  General  though 
fluent  in  vituperative  Hindustani,  and  fairly  articulate  in 
Arabic,  could  lay  no  claim  to  proficiency  in  the  French 
language.  Hence  probable  deadlock  between  doctor  and 
patient.  Henrietta  acted  promptly,  foreseeing  danger  of 
jaundice  or  worse;  and  bade  Marshall  Wace  telegraph  to 
Cannes  for  an  English  physician.  As  a  nurse  she  was 
capable  if  somewhat  unsympathetic — illness  and  death 
being  foreign  to  her  personal  programme.  She  attended 
upon  her  smaljl  sick  warrior  assiduously;  thereby  earning 
the  admiration  of  the  outsiders,  and  abject  apologies  for 
' '  being  such  a  confounded  nuisance  to  you,  my  love, ' '  from 
himself.  Her  maid,  a  Eurasian — by  name  Serafina 
Lousada,  whom  she  had  brought  with  her  from  Bombay 
a  couple  of  years  earlier,  prematurely-wrinkled  of  skin 
and  shrunken  of  figure,  yet  whose  lustrous  black  eyes  still 
held  the  embers  of  licentious  fires — would  readily  have 
shared  her  labours.  But  Henrietta  was  at  some  trouble 
to  eliminate  Serafina  from  the  sick-chamber,  holding  her 
tendencies  suspect  as  insidiously  and  quite  superfluously 
sentimental,  where  any  male  creature  might  be  concerned. 

Carteret  and  Sir  Charles  Verity,  on  the  other  hand,  she 
encouraged  with  the  sweetest  dignity  imaginable,  to  take 
turns  at  the  bedside — and  to  look  in  upon  her  drawing- 
room,  also,  on  their  way  back  and  forth  thither.  A  com- 
mon object  and  that  a  philanthropic  one,  gives  unimpeach- 
able occasions  of  intimacy.  These  Henrietta  did  not  neg- 
lect, though  touching  them  with  a  disarming  pensiveness 
of  demeanour.  The  invalid  was."  the  thing  " — the  thought 


308  DEADHAM  HARD 

of  him  wholly  paramount  with  her.  Her  anxiety  might  be 
lightened,  perhaps,  but  by  no  means  deleted,  by  the  at- 
tentions of  these  friends  of  former  years. — A  pretty  enough 
play  throughout,  as  the  two  gentlemen  silently  noted,  the 
one  with  kindly,  the  other  with  sardonic,  humour. 

Her  henchman,  Marshall  Wace,  meanwhile,  Henrietta 
kept  on  the  run  until  the  triangular  patch  of  colour,  strain- 
ing either  prominent  cheek-bone,  was  more  than  ever  ac- 
centuated. There  was  method,  we  may  however  take  it, 
in  the  direction  of  these  apparently  mad  runnings,  since 
they  so  incessantly  landed  the  runner  in  the  salon  of  the 
Grand  Hotel  crowning  the  wooded  headland.  Damaris 
she  refused  to  have  with  her.  No— she  couldn't  consent 
to  any  clouding  of  the  darling  child's  bright  spirit  by  her 
private  worries.  Trouble,  heaven  knows,  is  bound  to  over- 
take each  one  of  us  more  than  soon  enough!  She — 
Henrietta — could  endure  her  allotted  portion  of  universal 
tribulation  best  in  the  absence  of  youthful  witnesses. 

But  let  Marshall  carry  Damaris  news  daily — twice  daily, 
if  needs  be.  Let  him  read  with  her,  sing  to  her;  so  that 
she,  charming  child,  should  miss  her  poor  Henrietta,  and 
their  happy  meetings  at  the  little  pavilion,  the  less. 
Especially  let  him  seek  the  young  girl,  and  strive  to  enter- 
tain her,  when  Sir  Charles  and  Colonel  Carteret  were  en- 
gaged on  their  good  Samaritan  visits  to  General  Frayling. 

"  This  break  in  our  cherished  intercourse,"  Henrietta 
wrote,  in  one  of  those  many  Wace-borne  bulletins,  ' '  grieves 
me  more  than  I  can  express.  Permit  Marshall  to  do  all 
in  his  power  to  make  up  for  this  hospital  incarceration  of 
mine.  Poor  dear  fellow,  it  is  such  a  boon  to  him.  I  really 
crave  to  procure  him  any  pleasure  I  can — above  all  the 
pleasure  of  being  with  you,  which  he  values  so  very  highly. 
All  his  best  qualities  show  in  this  time  of  trial.  He  is  only 
too  faithful  and  wears  himself  to  positive  fiddle-strings 
in  my  service  and  that  of  the  General.  I  send  him  to  you, 
darling  child,  for  a  little  change  and  recreation — relaxa- 
tion from  the  strain  of  my  husband's  illness.  Marshall  is 
so  sympathetic  and  feels  for  others  so  deeply.  His  is 
indeed  a  rare  nature ;  but  one  which  does  not,  alas !  always 


THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  FOREST     309 

quite  do  itself  justice.  I  attribute  this  to  an  unfortunate 
upbringing  rather  than  to  any  real  fault  in  himself.  So 
be  good  to  him,  Damaris.  In  being  good  to  him — as  I  have 
said  all  along — you  are  being  good  to  your  fondly  loving 
and,  just  now,  sorely  tried  Henrietta  Frayling." 

All  which  sounded  a  note  designed  to  find  an  echo  in 
Damaris'  generous  heart.  Which  it  did — this  the  more 
readily  because,  still  penitent  for  her  recent  trifle  of  wild- 
oats  sowing,  our  beloved  maiden  was  particularly  emulous 
of  good  works,  the  missionary  spirit  all  agog  in  her.  She 
was  out  to  comfort,  to  sympathize  and  to  sustain.  Hence 
she  doubly  welcomed  that  high-coloured  hybrid,  Wace — 
actor,  cleric,  vocalist  in  one.  Guilelessly  she  indulged  and 
mothered  him,  overlooking  his  egoism,  his  touchiness  and 
peevishness,  his  occasional  defects  of  breeding  and  of  taste. 
She  permitted  him,  moreover,  to  talk  without  restraint 
upon  his  favourite  subject — that  of  himself.  To  retail 
the  despairs  of  an  ailing  and  unhappy  childhood;  the 
thwarted  aspirations  of  a  romantic  and  sensitive  boyhood ; 
the  doubts  and  disappointments  of  a  young  manhood 
conspicuously  rich  in  promise,  had  the  fates  and  his  fellow 
creatures  but  shown  themselves  more  intelligently  sensible 
of  his  merits  and  his  needs. 

For  this  was  the  burden  of  his  recurrent  lament. 
Throughout  life  he  had  been  misunderstood. 

"But  you,  Miss  Verity,  do  understand  me,"  he  almost 
passionately  declared,  waving  white  effeminate  hands. 
' '  Ah !  a  pure  influence  such  as  yours  ' ' 

Here,  rather  to  Damaris'  thankfulness,  words  appeared 
to  fail  him.  He  moved  to  the  piano  and  exhaled  his  re- 
maining emotion  in  song. 

Affairs  had  reached  the  above  point  about  ten  days 
after  Henrietta's  party  and  Damaris'  midnight  walk  with 
Colonel  Carteret  by  the  shore  of  the  sounding  sea.  General 
Frayling,  though  mending,  was  still  possessed  of  a  golden 
complexion  and  a  temperature  slightly  above  the  normal, 
while  his  dutiful  wife,  still  self-immured,  was  in  close 
attendance,  when  an  event  occurred  which  occasioned  her 
considerable  speculation  and  perplexity. 


310  DEADHAM  HARD 

It  came  about  thus.  At  her  request  Marshall  Wace 
walked  up  to  the  station  early  that  morning,  to  secure  the 
English  papers  on  their  arrival  by  the  mail  train  from 
Paris.  After  a  quite  unnecessarily  long  interval,  in  Henri- 
etta's opinion,  he  returned  with  an  irritable  expression  and 
flustered  manner.  Such,  at  least,  was  the  impression  she 
received  on  his  joining  her  in  the  wide  airy  corridor  out- 
side the  General's  sick-chamber. 

"  I  thought  you  were  never  coming  back,"  she  greeted 
him.  "  What  has  detained  you?  " 

"  The  Paris  train  was  late,"  he  returned.  "  And — 
wait  an  instant,  Cousin  Henrietta.  I  want  to  speak  to  you. 
Yes,  I  am  hot  and  tired,  and  I  am  put  out — I  don't  deny 
it." 

"  Why?  "   Henrietta  asked  him  indifferently. 

Her  own  temper  was  not  at  its  brightest  and  best.  The 
office  of  ministering  angel  had  begun  most  woefully  to 
pall  on  her.  What  if  this  illness  betokened  a  break  up  of 
health  on  the  part  of  General  Frayling?  Bath  chairs,  hot 
bottles,  air-cushions,  pap-like  meals  and  such  kindred  un- 
lovelinesses  loomed  large  ahead!  That  was  the  worst  of 
marrying  an  old,  or  anyhow  an  oldish,  man.  You  never 
could  tell  how  soon  the  natural  order  of  things  might  be 
reversed,  and  you  obliged  to  wait  hand  and  foot  on  him, 
instead  of  his  waiting  hand  and  foot  on  you.  Henrietta 
felt  fretful.  Her  looking-glass  presented  a  depressing  re- 
flection of  fine  lines  and  sharpened  features.  If  she  should 
wilt  under  this  prolonged  obligation  of  nursing,  her  years 
openly  advertise  their  number,  and  she  grow  faded,  passee, 
a  woman  who  visibly  has  outlived  her  prime?  She  could 
have  shaken  the  insufficiently  dying  General  in  his  bed! 
Yes,  insufficiently  dying — for,  in  heaven's  name,  let  him 
make  up  his  mind  and  that  speedily — get  well  and  make 
himself  useful,  or  veritably  and  finally  depart  before,  for 
the  preservation  of  her  good  looks,  it  was  too  late. 

"  I  met  Sir  Charles  Verity  at  the  station,"  Wace  went 
on.  "  He  was  coming  out  of  the  first  class  salle  d'attente. 
He  stopped  and  spoke  to  me,  enquired  for  cousin  Fred ;  but 
his  manner  was  peculiar,  autocratic  to  a  degree.  He  made 


me  feel  in  the  way,  feel  that  he  was  annoyed  at  my  being 
there  and  wanted  to  get  rid  of  me." 

"  Imagination,  my  dear  Marshall.  In  all  probability  he 
wasn't  thinking  about  you  one  way  or  the  other,  but 
merely  about  his  own  affairs,  his  own — as  Carteret  reports 
— remarkably  clever  book. — But  why,  I  wonder,  was  he  at 
the  station  so  early?  " 

Henrietta  stood  turning  the  folded  newspaper  about 
and  idly  scanning  the  head-lines,  while  the  wind,  entering 
by  the  open  casements  at  the  end  of  the  corridor,  lifted 
and  fluttered  the  light  blue  gauze  scarf  she  wore  round 
her  shoulders  over  her  white  frilled  morning  gown. 

"  He  didn't  tell  me,"  the  large,  soft,  very  hot  young  man 
said.  "  You  may  call  it  imagination,  Cousin  Henrietta; 
but  I  can't.  I  am  positive  his  manner  was  intentional.  He 
meant  to  snub  me,  by  intimating  of  how  slight  account 
I  am  in  his  estimation.  It  was  exceedingly  galling.  I  do 
not  want  to  employ  a  vulgar  expression — but  he  looked 
down  his  nose  at  me  as  if  I  was  beneath  contempt.  You 
know  that  insolent,  arrogant  way  of  his?  " 

' '  Oh,  la-la :  ' '  Henrietta  cried.  ' '  Don 't  be  so  childish !  ' ' 
— Though  she  did  in  point  of  fact  know  the  said  way 
perfectly  well  and  admired  it.  Once  upon  a  time  hadn't 
Sir  Charles,  indeed,  rather  superbly  practised  it  in  her — 
Henrietta's — defence  ? 

She  sighed ;  while  her  temper  took  a  nasty  turn  towards 
her  yellow-faced,  apologetic  little  General,  waiting  pa- 
tiently for  sight  of  the  English  newspapers,  under  the 
veil  of  mosquito  netting  in  his  little  bed.  Even  in  his 
roaring  forties — had  his  forties  ever  roared  though? — 
she  doubted  it — not  to  save  his  life  could  he  ever  have 
looked  down  his  nose  at  an  offending  fellow-man  like  that. 
— Ah!  Charles  Verity — Charles  Verity! — Her  heart  mis- 
gave her  that  she  had  been  too  precipitate  in  this  third 
marriage.  If  she  had  waited? 

"  Of  course,  with  my  wretchedly  short  sight,  I  may 
have  been  mistaken,"  Wace  continued,  pointedly  ignoring 
her  interruption,  ' '  but  I  am  almost  convinced  I  recognized 
Colonel  Carteret  and  Miss  Verity — Damaris — through  the 


312  DEADHAM  HARD 

open  door,  on  the  other  side  of  the  salle  d'attente,  in  the 
crowd  on  the  platform  about  to  take  their  places  in  the 
train  from  Cannes,  which  had  just  come  in." 

Henrietta  ceased  to  scan  the  head-lines  or  deplore  her 
matrimonial  precipitation. 

"  Carteret  and  Damaris  alone  and  together?  "  she  ex- 
claimed with  raised  eyebrows. 

"  Yes,  and  it  occurred  to  me  that  I  there  touched  upon 
the  explanation,  in  part  at  least,  of  Sir  Charles  Verity's 
offensive  manner.  He  had  been  to  see  them  off  and  was, 
for  some  reason,  unwilling  that  we — you  and  I,  cousin 
Henrietta — should  know  of  their  journey." 

Even  in  private  life,  at  the  very  head-waters  and  source 
of  her  intrigues  and  her  scheming,  Henrietta  cleverly 
maintained  an  effect  of  secrecy.  She  showed  herself  an 
adept  in  the  fine  art  of  outflanking  incautious  intruders. 
Never  did  she  wholly  reveal  herself  or  her  purposes; 
but  reserved  for  her  own  use  convenient  run-holes,  down 
which  she  could  escape  from  even  the  most  intimate  of  her 
co-adjutors  and  employees.  If  masterly  in  advance,  she 
showed  even  more  masterly  in  retreat;  and  that  too  often 
at  the  expense  of  her  fellow  intriguers.  Without  scruple 
she  deserted  them,  when  personal  safety  or  personal  reputa- 
tion suggested  the  wisdom  of  so  doing.  Though  herself 
perplexed  and  suspicious,  she  now  rounded  on  Wace,  tak- 
ing a  high  tone  with  him. 

"  But  why,  my  dear  Marshall,  why?  "  she  enquired, 
"  should  Sir  Charles  object  to  our — as  you  put  it — know- 
ing? That  seems  to  me  an  entirely  gratuitous  assumption 
on  your  part.  In  all  probability  Mary  Ellice  and  the  boys 
were  on  the  platform  too,  only  you  didn't  happen  to  catch 
sight  of  them.  And,  in  any  case,  our  friends  at  the  Grand 
Hotel  are  not  accountable  to  us  for  their  comings  and 
goings.  They  are  free  agents,  and  it  does  really  strike 
me  as  just  a  little  gossipy  to  keep  such  a  very  sharp  eye 
upon  their  movements. — Don't  be  furious  with  me  " 

Henrietta  permitted  herself  to  reach  up  and  pat  the 
young  man  on  the  shoulder,  playfully,  restrainingly.  An 
extraordinarily  familiar  proceeding  on  her  part,  marking 


THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  FOREST     313 

the  strength  of  her  determination  to  avoid  any  approach 
to  a  quarrel,  since  she  openly  denounced  and  detested  all 
those  demonstrations,  as  between  friends  and  relations, 
which  come  under  the  generic  title  of  "  pawing." 

"  No,  pray  don't  be  furious  with  me,"  she  repeated.  "  I 
quite  appreciate  how  sensitive  you  naturally  must  be  upon 
the  subject  of  Damaris." 

"  You  have  given  me  encouragement,  cousin  Henrietta  " 
— this  resentfully. 

"  And  why  not?  Don't  be  disingenuous,  my  dear 
Marshall.  I  have  given  you  something  much  more  solid 
than  mere  encouragement,  namely  active  help,  opportunity. 
In  the  right  direction,  to  the  right  person,  I  have  re- 
peatedly praised  you.  But  the  prize,  in  this  case,  is 
to  him.  who  has  address  and  perseverance  to  win  it.  You 
possess  signal  advantages  through  your  artistic  tastes, 
your  music,  your  reciting.  But  I  have  never  disguised  from 
you — now  honestly,  have  I? — there  were  obstacles  and 
even  prejudices  to  be  overcome." 

"  Sir  Charles  despises  me." 

"  But  his  daughter  gives  ample  proof  that  she  does  not. 
And —  you  don't  propose  to  marry  Sir  Charles,  do  you?  " 

Henrietta  laughed  a  trifle  shrilly.  The  tone  of  that 
laugh  pierced  her  hearer's  armour  of  egoism.  He  stared 
at  her  in  interrogative  surprise — observing  which  she 
hastened  to  retreat  down  a  run-hole. 

"  Ah!  "  she  cried,  "  it  is  really  a  little  too  bad  to  tease 
you,  Marshall.  But  one  can't  but  be  tempted  to  do  so  at 
moments.  You  take  everything  so  terribly  au  grand 
serieux,  my  young  friend." 

"  You  mean  to  convey  that  I  am  ponderous?  " 

"  Well — perhaps — just  a  shade,"  she  archly  agreed. 
"  And  of  ponderosity  you  must  make  an  effort  to  cure 
yourself. — Mind,  though  a  fault,  I  consider  it  one  on  the 
right  side — in  the  connection,  that  is,  which  we  have  just 
now  been  discussing.  When  a  girl  has  as  much  intelligence 
as — we  needn't  name  names,  need  we? — she  resents  per- 
petual chaff  and  piffle.  They  bore  her — seem  to  her  a 
flagrant  waste  of  time.  Her  mind  tends  to  scorn  delights 


314  DEADHAM  HARD 

and  live  laborious  days — a  tendency  which  rectifies  itself 
later  as  a  rule.  All  the  same  in  avoiding  frivolity,  one 
must  not  rush  to  the  other  extreme  and  be  heavy  in  hand. 
A  happy  mien  in  this  as  in  all  things,  my  dear  Marshall." 

"  I  cannot  so  far  degrade  myself  as  to  be  an  oppor- 
tunist," he  returned  sententiously. 

"  Yet  the  opportunist  arrives;  and  to  arrive  is 
the  main  thing,  after  all — at  least  I  imagine  so. — Now 
I  really  cannot  stay  here  any  longer  giving  you  priceless 
advice;  but  must  take  the  General  his  newspapers. — By 
the  way,  did  Sir  Charles  say  anything  about  coming  to 
see  him  this  afternoon?  " 

As  she  asked  the  question  Henrietta  ran  her  eye  down 
over  the  announcements  in  the  Court  Circular.  Marshall 
replied  in  the  negative.  She  made  no  comment,  hardly 
appearing  to  notice  his  answer.  But,  as  she  stepped 
lightly  and  delicately  away  down  the  airy  corridor  .to  the 
door  of  the  sick-room,  over  her  blue  gauze  draped 
shoulder  she  flung  back  at  him — 

"  This  confinement  to  the  house  is  getting  quite  on  my 
nerves.  I  must  really  allow  myself  a  little  holiday. — Take 
a  drive  to-morrow  if  Frederic  is  no  worse.  I  will  call  at 
the  Grand  Hotel,  I  think,  and  see  darling  Damaris,  just 
for  a  few  minutes,  myself." 

Information  which  went  far  to  restore  her  hearer's 
equanimity.  His  affairs,  as  he  recognized,  were  in  actively 
astute  safe-keeping. 

Marshall  Wace  spent  the  rest  of  the  morning  in  the 
drawing-room  of  the  villa,  at  the  piano,  composing  a  by 
no  means  despicable  setting  of  Shelley's  two  marvellous 
stanzas,  which  commence : 

"  Rarely,  rarely  comest  thou, 

Spirit  of  Delight  1 
Wherefore  hast  thou  left  me  now 
Many  a  day  and  night  ? " 

The  rich  baritone  voice,  vibrant  with  apparent  passion, 
swept  out  through  the  open  windows,  across  the  glittering 
garden.  Miss  Maud  Callowgas,  walking  along  that  portion 


THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  FOREST     315 

of  the  esplanade  immediately  in  front  of  the  hotel,  paused 
in  the  grilling  sunshine  to  listen.  Heaven  upon  earth 
seemed  to  open  before  her  pale,  white-lashed  eyes.  If  she 
could  only  ascertain  what  fortune  she  might  eventually 
count  on  possessing — but  Mama  was  so  dreadfully  close 
about  everything  to  do  with  money !  The  Harchester  bishop- 
ric was  a  fat  one,  worth  from  ten  to  fifteen  thousand  a  year. 
That  she  knew  from  the  odious,  impudent  questions  asked 
about  it  by  some  horrible  nonconformist  member,  in  the 
House  of  Commons,  just  after  her  father's  death.  Surely 
Mama  must  have  saved  a  considerable  amount  out  of  so 
princely  an  income?  She  had  always  kept  down  expenses 
at  the  Palace.  The  servants  left  so  often  because  they 
declared  they  had  not  enough  to  eat. 

Then  through  the  open  window  of  the  villa  embowered  in 
roses,  there  amid  the  palms  and  pines — and  in  a  falling 
cadence  too: 

"  How  shall  ever  one  like  me 
Win  thee  back  again  ?  " 

But  Maud  Callowgas  needed  no  winning,  being  very  ef- 
fectually won  already,  so  it  was  superfluous  thus  movingly 
to  ask  the  question.  The  midday  sun  striking  through  her 
black-and-white  parasol  made  her  feel  dizzy  and  faint. — < 
If  only  she  could  learn  the  amount  of  her  fortune,  she 
could  let  Mrs.  Frayling  learn  the  amount  of  it  too — just 

casually,    in   the   course    of    conversation,    and   then 

Everyone  said  Mrs.  Frayling  was  doing  her  best  to 
"  place  "  her  cousin-by-marriage,  to  secure  him  a  well- 
endowed  wife. 


CHAPTER  X 

WHICH  IT  IB  TO  BE  FEARED  SMELLS  SOMEWHAT  POWERFULLY 
OF  BILGE  WATER 

WARM  wind,  hot  sun,  the  confused  sound  and  move- 
ment of  a  great  southern  port,  all  the  traffic  and 
trade  of  it,  man  and  beast  sweating  in  the  splendid 
glare.  Rattle  of  cranes,  scream  of  winches,  grind  of  wheels, 
and  the  bellowing  of  a  big  steamer,  working  her  way  cau- 
tiously through  the  packed  shipping  of  the  basin,  to  the 
blue  freedom  of  the  open  sea. — Such  was  the  scene  which 
the  boatswain  and  white-jacketed  steward,  leaning  their 
folded  arms  on  the  bulwarks  and  smoking,  lazily  watched. 
The  Forest  Queen  rode  high  at  the  quayside,  having  dis- 
charged much,  and  taken  on  but  a  moderate  amount  of 
cargo  for  her  homeward  voyage.  This  was  already  stowed. 
She  had  coaled  and  was  bound  to  clear  by  dawn.  Now  she 
rested  in  idleness,  most  of  her  crew  taking  their  pleasure 
ashore,  a  Sabbath  calm  pervading  her  amid  the  strident 
activities  going  forward  on  every  hand.  The  ship's  dog, 
a  curly-haired  black  retriever,  lay  on  the  clean  deck  in 
the  sunshine  stretched  on  his  side,  all  four  legs  limp,  save 
when,  pestered  beyond  endurance,  he  whisked  into  a  sit- 
ting position  to  snap  at  the  all  too  numerous  flies. 

The  boatswain — a  heavily  built  East  Anglian,  born  within 
sight  of  Boston  Stump  five-and-forty  years  ago,  his  face 
seamed  and  pitted  by  smallpox  almost  to  the  extinction  of 
expression  and  altogether  to  that  of  eyebrows,  eyelashes 
and  continuity  of  beard — spat  deliberately  and  volumi- 
nously into  the  oily,  refuse-stained  water,  lapping  against 
the  ship's  side  over  twenty  feet  below,  and  resumed  a  des- 
ultory conversation  which  for  the  moment  had  fallen  dead. 
"  So  that's  the  reason  of  his  giving  us  hell's  delight, 

316 


THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  FOREST     317 

like  he  has  all  day,  cleaning  up! — Got  a  lady  coming 
aboard  to  tea  has  he  ?  If  she 's  too  fine  to  take  us  as  we  are, 
a  deal  better  let  'er  stay  ashore,  in  my,  opinion.  Stuff  a' 
nonsense  all  this  set  out,  dressing  up  and  dressing  down. 
Vanity  at  the  bottom  of  it — and  who's  it  to  take  in? — 
For  a  tramp's  a  tramp,  and  a  liner's  a  liner;  and  all  the 
water  in  God's  ocean,  and  all  the  rubbing  and  scrubbing 
on  man's  earth,  won't  convert  the  one  into  the  other,  bless 
you." 

He  pointed  away,  with  his  pipestem,  to  the  violet- 
shadowed  mouth  of  one  of  the  narrow  lanes  opening  be- 
tween the  slop-shops,  wine-shops,  and  cheap  eating-houses 
— their  gaudy  striped,  flounced  awnings  bellying  and 
straining  in  the  fervid  southerly  breeze — which  lined  the 
further  side  of  the  crowded  quay. 

"  As  well  try  to  wash  some  gutter-bred,  French  trollop, 
off  the  streets  in  behind  there,  into  a  white-souled,  white- 
robed  heavenly  angel, ' '  he  grumbled  on.  ' '  All  this  purify- 
ing of  the  darned  old  hulk's  so  much,  labour  lost.  Gets 
the  men's  monkey  up  too,  putting  all  this  extray  work 
on  'em." 

He  leaned  down  again,  folding  his  arms  along  the  top 
of  the  bulwarks. 

"  And,  angel  or  trollop,  I  find  no  use  for  her,  nor  any 
other  style  of  woman  either,  on  board  this  'ere  blasted 
rusty  iron  coffin,"  he  said. 

Whereat  the  Stewart,  a  pert-eyed,  dapper  little  cockney 
— amateur  of  the  violin  and  noted  impersonator  of  popular 
music-hall  comedians — took  him  up  in  tones  of  amiable 
argument. 

"  Your  stomach's  so  turned  on  the  subject  of  females 
you  can't  do  'em  justice.  Gone  sour,  regularly  sour,  it  is. 
And  I  don't  hold  with  you  there,  Partington,  never  shall 
and  never  do.  I'm  one  as  can  always  find  a  cosy  corner 
in  me  manly  bosom  for  the  lidies — blame  me  if  I  can't, 
the  pore  'elpless  little  lovey-doveys.  After  all's  said  and 
done  Gawd  made  'em  just  as  much  as  'e  made  you,  Parting- 
ton,  that  'e  did." 

"  And  called  you  in,  sonny,  to  lend  'im  an  'and  at  the 


318  DEADHAM  HARD 

job,  didn't  'e?  All  I  can  say  is  you'd  both  have  been 
better  employed  putting  in  your  time  and  talents  some- 
where else." 

After  which  sally  the  two  smoked  in  silence,  while  the 
ship's  dog  alternately  stretched  himself  on  the  hot  boards, 
and  started  up  with  a  yelp  to  snap  at  the  cloud  of  buzzing 
flies  again. 

The  steward  merely  bided  his  time,  however,  and  en- 
quired presently  with  a  nice  air  of  nonchalance : 

"  Never  been  married,  Partington,  'ave  you?  I've  often 
known  that  put  a  fellow  sadly  off  the  sex." 

"  Never,"  the  other  replied,  "  though  I  came  precious 
near  it  once,  when  I  was  a  youngster  and  greener — greener 
even  than  you  with  your  little  lovey-doveys  and  your 
manly  bosom,  William,  which  is  allowing  a  lot.  But  my 
wife  as  was  to  'ave  been — met  her  down  Bristol  way,  gone 
blind  silly  on  'er  I  was — got  took  with  the  smallpox  the  week 
before  the  ceremony  was  pulled  off,  and  give  me  all  she 
had  to  spare  of  the  disease  with  her  dying  breath.  Soft 
chap  as  I  was  then,  I  held  it  as  a  sort  of  a  compliment. 
Afterwards,  when  the  crape  had  worn  a  bit  brown,  I  saw 
it  was  jealousy  of  any  other  female  I  might  come  to  cast 
my  eye  over  as  made  her  act  like  that. ' ' 

"  A  private  sore!  "  William  commented.  "  To  tell  you 
gospel  truth,  Partington,  I  guessed  as  much.  But  you 
should  learn  to  tike  the  larger  view.  Blimey,  you  should 
rise  above  that.  To  be  marked  like  you  are  is  a  misfortune, 
I  don't  pretend  to  the  contrary,  looking  at  it  along  the 
level  so  to  speak.  But  beauty's  so  much  dust  and  ashes, 
if  yer  can  just  boost  yerself  up  to  tike  the  larger  view. 
Think  of  all  that  pore  dying  woman  mayn't  'ave  saved 
you  from  by  making  yer  outward  fascinations  less  staring 
to  the  sex?  Regular  honey-pot  to  every  passing  petticoat 
you  might  'ave  been." 

He  broke  off,  springing  erect  and  shading  his  eyes  with 
one  hand  to  obtain  a  better  view. 

"  My  Sammy — whoever 's  the  skipper  a  bringing  'ome 
'ere  with  him?  Books  and  duchesses  and  all  the  blamed 
airistorkracy ? — English  too,  or  I'm  a  blooming  nigger. — 


THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  FOREST     319 

Tea  for  a  lidy  ? — I  should  rather  think  it. — Partington,  I'm 
off  to  put  meself  inside  of  a  clean  jacket  and  make  sure  the 
cockroaches  ain't  holding  a  family  sing-song  on  my  best 
white  table-cloth. — Say,  that  young  ole  man  of  ours  don't 
stop  'arf  way  up  the  ladder,  once  'e  starts  climbing.  Gets 
to  the  top  rung  'e  does  stright  orf,  s'elp  me.  And  tikes  'is 
ease  there,  seemingly,  as  to  the  manner  born.  Looks  like 
he  does  any'ow,  the  way  'e's  behaving  of  hisself  now. — 
So  long,  bo 'sun,"  he  added  jauntily.  "I'm  called  from 
yer  side  to  descend  the  companion  ong  route  for  higher 
spheres.  Sounds  like  a  contradiction  that,  but  ain't  so. — 
See  you  again  when  the  dooks  'as  quitted  this  fond  old 
floating  'earse  of  ours  and  took  themselves  back  to  their 
'ereditary  marble  'alls  to  roost." 

On  the  other  side  of  the  quay,  meanwhile,  in  the  brave 
dancing  breeze  and  the  sunshine,  Darcy  Faircloth  stepped 
down  on  to  the  uneven  paving  just  opposite  to  where  the 
Forest  Queen  lay.  Colonel  Carteret  followed  and  stood 
aside,  leaving  him  to  hand  Damaris  out  of  the  open  car- 
riage. 

For  this  was  the  younger  man's  day;  and,  as  the  elder 
ungrudgingly  acknowledged,  he  played  the  part  of  host 
with  a  nice  sense  of  taste,  his  hospitality  erring  neither  in 
the  direction  of  vulgar  lavishness,  nor  of  over-modesty  and 
economy.  Breeding  tells,  is  fertile  in  social  intuitions,  as 
Carteret  reflected,  even  when  deformed  by  an  ugly  bar 
sinister.  During  the  past  hours  he  had  been  observant — 
even  above  his  wont — jealous  both  for  his  friend  Charles 
Verity  and  his  dear  charge,  Damaris,  in  this  peculiar  as- 
sociation. The  position  was  a  far  from  easy  one,  so  many 
slips  of  sorts  possible ;  but  the  young  merchant  sea-captain 
had  carried  it  off  with  an  excellent  simplicity  and  uncon- 
scious grace. — In  respect  of  a  conveyance,  to  begin  with, 
he  eschewed  hiring  a  hack,  and  met  his  arriving  guests,  at 
the  station,  with  the  best  which  the  stables  of  the  Hotel 
du  Louvre  et  de  la  Paix  could  produce.  Had  offered  a  quiet 
well-served  luncheon  at  that  same  stately  hostelry  more- 
over, in  preference  to  the  more  flashy  and  popular  res- 
taurants of  the  town.  Afterwards  he  had  driven  them, 


320  DEADHAM  HARD 

in  the  early  hours  of  the  afternoon,  up  to  the  church  of 
Notre  Dame  de  la  Garde,  which,  perched  aloft  on  its  emi- 
nence, godspeeds  the  outward  bound  and  welcomes  the 
homecoming  voyager,  while  commanding  so  noble  a  pros- 
pect of  port  and  city,  of  islands  sacred  to  world-famous 
romance,  and  wide  horizons  of  rich  country  and  historic 
sea. 

And  now,  before  parting,  Faircloth  brought  them  to  his 
ship.  To  this  private  kingdom  of  his  and  all  it  implied 
— and  denied  too— of  social  privilege,  social  distinction. 
Implied,  further,  of  administrative  and  personal  power — 
all  it  set  forth  of  the  somewhat  rugged  facts  of  his  pro- 
fession and  daily  environment.  Of  this  small  world  he 
was  undisputed  autocrat,  Grand  Cham  of  this  miniature 
Tartary — of  this  iron-walled  two-thousand-ton  empire,  the 
great  white  Czar. 

So  far  Carteret  had  lent  himself  to  the  extensive  day's 
"  outing  "  in  a  spirit  of  very  sweet-tempered  philosophy. 
He  had  been  delightful,  unfailing  in  courtesy  and  tactful 
address.  Now,  having  analysed  his  host's  character  to  his 
own  satisfaction,  he  felt  justified  in  giving  himself  a  holi- 
day from  the  office  of  chaperon  and  watch-dog.  He  had 
fulfilled  his  promise,  royally  done  his  duty  by  Damaris 
in  that  quasi-avuncular  relation  which  he  had  assumed  in 
place  of  a  closer  and — how  profoundly  more — coveted  one ; 
thereby  earning  temporary  release  from  her  somewhat  over- 
moving  neighbourhood.  Not  but  what  he  had  been  keenly, 
almost  painfully,  interested  in  watching  this  drama  of 
brother  and  sister,  and  gauging  the  impulses,  the  currents 
of  action  and  of  emotion  which  lay  behind  it.  Gauging  too 
the  difficulties,  even  dangers,  inherent  in  it,  the  glamour 
and  the  clouding  of  shame — whether  conventional  or  real 
he  did  not  pretend  exactly  to  determine — which  so  strangely 
wrapped  it  about.  To  use  Damaris'  favourite  word,  they 
were  very  "  beautiful  "  both  in  themselves  and  in  their 
almost  mystic  affection,  these  two  young  creatures.  And 
just  on  that  very  account  he  would  be  glad  to  get  away 
from  them,  to  be  no  longer  onlooker,  or — to  put  it  vulgarly 
— gooseberry,  fifth  wheel  to  the  cart. 


THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  FOREST     321 

Ke  went  with  them  as  far  as  the  shoreward  end  of  the 
up-sloping  gangway. — A  tall  grey-clad  figure,  with  an 
equally  tall  blue-clad  figure  on  the  other  side  of  the  young 
girl's,  also  tall,  biscuit-coloured  one, — a  dash  of  pink  show- 
ing in  her  burnt-straw  hat,  pink  too  at  her  throat  and 
waist  seen  between  the  open  fronts  of  her  dust-coat. — But 
at  the  gangway  he  stopped. 

' '  Dear  witch, ' '  he  said, ' '  I  have  some  telegrams  I  should 
be  glad  to  send  off,  and  another  small  matter  of  business 
to  transact  in  the  town,  so  here  I  will  leave  you,  if  you 
permit,  in  our  friend's  safe-keeping  " — he  smiled  upon 
Faireloth.  "  At  the  station,  at  five-thirty,  we  meet.  Au 
revoir,  then." 

And,  without  waiting  for  any  reply,  he  sauntered  away 
along  the  sun-flooded  quay  between  piled  up  bales  of 
merchandize,  wine  barrels,  heaps  of  sand,  heaps  too  of 
evilly  smelling  hides,  towering  cases  and  crates.  His 
shadow — clear  violet  upon  the  grey  of  the  granite — from 
his  feet  onwards,  travelled  before  him  as  he  walked.  And 
this  leading  by,  this  following  of,  his  own  shadow,  casual 
accident  of  light  and  of  direction  though  in  all  common 
sense  he  must  account  it,  troubled  the  peace  of  the  man 
with  the  blue  eyes,  making  him  feel  wistful,  feel  past  the 
zenith  of  his  allotted  earthly  achievement,  queerly  out  of 
the  running,  aged  and  consequently  depressed. 

Upon  Damaris  the  suddenness  of  his  exit  reacted  in  a 
sensation  of  constraint.  Carteret  had  been  very  exquisite 
to  her  throughout  this  delicate  adventure,  throughout  these 
hours  of  restrained  yet  exalted  emotion.  Left  thus  to  her 
own  resources  she  grew  anxious,  consciously  diffident.  The, 
in  a  sense,  abnormal  element  in  her  relation  to  Faircloth 
darted  down  on  her,  so  that  she  could  not  but  remember 
how  slight,  after  all,  was  her  actual  acquaintance  with  him, 
how  seldom — only  thrice  in  point  of  fact — had  he  and  she 
had  speech  of  one  another. 

Upon  Faircloth,  Carteret 's  withdrawal  also  reacted, 
though  with  different  effect.  For  an  instant  he  watched  the 
tall  retreating  form  of  this,  as  he  perceived,  very  perfect 
gentleman.  Then  he  turned  to  Damaris,  looking  her  over 


322  DEADHAM  HARD 

from  head  to  heel,  in  keen  somewhat  possessive  fashion. 
And  as,  meeting  his  eyes,  bravely  if  shyly,  her  colour  deep- 
ened. 

"  You  are  happy?  "  he  affirmed  rather  than 
asked. 

"  As  the  day  is  long,"  she  answered  him  steadily. 

"  But  the  day's  not  been  overlong,  by  chance,  has 
it?" 

"  Not  half  long  enough." 

"  All's  well,  then,  still."  He  pressed  her—"  You  aren't 
weary  of  me  yet?  " 

Damaris  reassuringly  shook  her  head. 

Nevertheless  she  was  very  sensible  of  change  in  the  tenor 
of  their  intercourse,  sensible  of  a  just  perceptible  hardness 
in  his  bearing  and  aspect.  For  some  cause,  the  nature  of 
which  she  failed  to  divine  though  she  registered  the  fact 
of  its  existence,  he  no  longer  had  complete  faith  in  her,  was 
no  longer  wholly  at  one  with  her  in  sympathy  and  in  be- 
lief. He  needed  wooing,  handling.  And  had  she  the 
knowledge  and  the  art  successfully  to  handle  this  sun- 
browned,  golden-bearded,  rather  magnificent  young  master 
mariner — out  here  in  the  open  too,  the  shout  of  the  great 
port  in  her  ears,  the  dazzle  of  the  water  and  the  push  of  the 
warm  wind  upon  her  face  ? 

"  Ah,  why  waste  precious  time  in  putting  questions  to 
which  you  surely  already  know  the  answer  ?  ' '  with  a  touch 
of  reproach  she  took  him  up.  ' '  Show  me  rather  where  you 
live — where  you  eat  and  sleep,  where  you  walk  up  and 
down,  walk  quarter-deck,  when  you  are  far  away  there 
out  at  sea." 

"  Does  all  that  really  interest  you?  " 

Damaris'  lips  quivered  the  least  bit. 

"  Why  have  you  turned  perverse  and  doubting?  Isn't 
it  because  they  interest  me,  above  and  beyond  anything, 
beautifully  interest  me,  that  I  am  here? — It  would  have 
been  very  easy  to  stay  away,  if  I  hadn't  wanted — as  I  do 
want — to  be  able  to  fancy  you  from  morning  until  night, 
to  know  where  you  sit,  know  just  what  you  first  see  when 
in  the  grey  of  the  morning  you  first  wake." 


THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  FOREST     323 

Faircloth  continued  to  look  at  her;  but  his  expression 
softened,  gaining  a  certain  spirituality. 

"  I  have  questioned  more  than  once  to-day  whether  I 
had  not  been  foolhardy  in  letting  you  come  here — whether 
distance  wasn't  safest,  and  the  hunger  of  absence  sweeter 
than  the  full  meal  of  your  presence  for — for  both  of  us, 
things  being  between  us  as  they  actually  are.  What  if  the 
bubble  burst  ? — I  have  had  scares — hideous  scares — lest  you 
should  be  disappointed  in  me." 

"  Or  you  in  me?  "  Damaris  said. 

"  No.  Only  your  being  disappointed  in  me  could  dis- 
appoint me  in  you — and  hardly  that,  because  you'd  have 
prejudice,  facts  even,  natural  and  obvious  enough  ones, 
upon  your  side.  Faircloth 's  Inn  on  Marychurch  Haven 
and  your  Indian  palace,  as  basis  to  two  children 's  memories 
and  outlook,  are  too  widely  divergent,  .when  one  comes  to 
think  of  it.  When  listening  to  you  and  Colonel  Carteret 
talking  at  luncheon  I  caught  very  plain  sight  of  that.  Not 
that  he  talked  of  set  purpose  to  read  me  a  wholesome  les- 
son in  humility — never  in  life.  He's  not  that  sort.  But 
the  lesson  went  home  all  the  more  directly  for  that  very 
reason. — Patience  one  little  minute,"  he  quickly  ad- 
monished her  as  she  essayed  to  speak — "  patience.  You 
ask,  with  those  dear  wonderful  eyes  of  yours,  what  I'm 
driving  at. — This,  beloved  one — you  see  the  waiting  car- 
riage over  there.  Hadn't  we  best  get  into  it,  turn  the 
horses'  heads  citywards  again,  and  drink  our  tea,  you 
and  I,  on  the  way  up  to  the  station  somewhere  very  much 
else  than  on  board  this  rough-and-tumble  rather  foul- 
breathed  cargo  boat? — I'm  so  beastly  afraid  you  may 
be  disgusted  and  shocked  by  the  interval  between  what 
you're  accustomed  to  and  what  I  am.  To  let  you 
down  " 

Faircloth 's  handsome  face  worked.  Whereat  Damaris' 
diffidence  took  to  itself  wings  and  flew  away.  Her  heart 
grew  light. 

"  Let  me  down?  "  she  said.  "  You  can't  let  me  down. 
Oh!  really,  really  you're  a  little  slow  of  comprehension. 
We  are  in  this — in  everything  that  has  happened  since  I 


324  DEADHAM  HARD 

first  knew  who  you  are,  and  everything  which  is  going  to 
happen  from  now  onwards — in  it  together.  What  joins 
us  goes  miles,  miles  deeper  and  wider  than  any  petty  sur- 
face things.  Must  I  tell  you  how  much  I  care?  Can't  you 
feel  it  for  yourself?  " 

And  she  stepped  before  him  on  to  the  upward  sloping 
gangway  plank. 


CHAPTER  XI 

VfHBBEIN   DAMARIS   MEETS    HERSELF   UNDER  A   NOVEL   ASPECT 

DAMARIS  threw  back  the  bedclothes,  her  eyes  still 
dim  with  slumber,  and  gathered  herself  into  a  sitting 
position,  clasping  her  knees  with  both  hands.  She 
had  a  vague  impression  that  something  very  pleasant 
awaited  her  attention;  but,  in  the  soft  confusion  of  first 
awakening,  could  not  remember  exactly  what  it  was. 

To  induce  clearer  consciousness  she  instinctively  parted 
the  mosquito  curtains,  slipped  her  feet  down  over  the  side 
of  the  bed;  and,  a  little  crouched  together  and  fumbly — 
baby-fashion — being  still  under  the  comfortable  empire 
of  sleep,  crossed  the  room  and  set  back  the  inward  open- 
ing casements  of  the  south  window.  Thereupon  the  out- 
door freshness,  fluttering  her  hair  and  the  lace  and  nain- 
sook of  her  nightdress,  brought  her,  on  the  instant,  into  full 
possession  of  her  wandering  wits.  She  remembered  the 
nature  of  that  charmingly  pleasant  something ;  yet  paused, 
before  yielding  it  attention,  held  captive  by  the  spectacle 
of  returning  day. 

It  was  early.  The  disc  of  the  sun  still  below  the  horizon. 
But  shafts  of  light,  striking  up  from  it,  patterned  the 
underside  of  a  vast  dapple  of  fleecy  cloud — heliotrope  upon 
the  backcloth  of  blue  ether — with  fringes  and  bosses  of 
scarlet  flame.  Against  this,  occupying  the  foreground,  the 
pine  trees,  which  sheltered  the  terrace,  showed  up  a  deep 
greenish  purple  bordering  upon  black. 

Leaning  out  over  the  polished  wooden  bar — which  topped 
the  ironwork  of  the  window-guard — Damaris  sought  and 
gained  sight  of  the  sea.  This,  darker  even  than  the  tufted 
foliation  of  the  pines — since  still  untouched  by  sunlight — 
spread  dense  and  compact  as  molten  metal,  with  here  and 
there  a  sheen,  like  that  of  the  raven's  wing,  upon  its  cor- 

825 


326  DEADHAM  HARD 

rugated  surface.  To  Damaris  it  appeared  curiously  for- 
bidding. Seeing  it  thus  she  felt,  indeed,  to  have  taken 
Nature  unawares,  surprised  her  without  disguise;  so  that 
for  once  she  displayed  her  veritable  face — a  face  not  yet 
made  up  and  camouflaged  to  conceal  the  fact  of  its  in- 
dwelling terror  from  puny  and  defenceless  man. 

With  that  the  girl's  thoughts  flew,  in  longing  and  solici- 
tude, to  Faircloth,  whose  business  so  perpetually  brought 
fhim  into  contact  with  Nature  thus  naked  and  untamed. — 
By  now,  and  over  as  sinister  a  sea — since  westward  the 
dawn  would  barely  yet  have  broke — the  Forest  Queen  must 
be  steaming  along  the  Andalusian  coast,  making  for 
Gibraltar  and  the  Straits  upon  her  homeward  voyage. 
And  by  some  psychic  alchemy,  an  influence  more  potent 
and  tangible  than  that  of  ordinary  thought,  her  apprehen- 
sion fled  out,  annihilating  distance,  bridging  intervening 
space.  For,  just  as  certainly  as  Damaris'  fair  body  leaned 
from  the  open  window,  so  certainly  did  her  fair  soul  or 
— to  try  a  closer  and  more  scientific  definition — her  living 
consciousness,  stand  in  the  captain's  cabin  of  the  ocean- 
bound  tramp,  making  Darcy  Faircloth  turn  smiling  in  his* 
sleep,  he  having  vision  and  glad  sense  of  her — which  stayed 
by  him,  tempering  his  humour  to  a  peculiar  serenity 
throughout  the  ensuing  day. 

That  their  correspondence  was  no  fictitious  one,  a  freak 
of  disordered  nerves  or  imagination,  but  sane  and  actual, 
both  brother  and  sister  could  convincingly  have  affirmed. 
And  this  although  time — as  time  is  usually  figured — had 
neither  lot  nor  part  in  it.  Such  projections  of  personality 
are  best  comparable,  in  this  respect,  to  the  dreams  which 
seize  us  in  the  very  act  of  waking — vivid,  coherent  and 
complete,  yet  ended  by  the  selfsame  sound  or  touch  by 
which  they  are  evoked. 

In  Damaris'  case,  before  the  scarlet,  dyeing  the  cloud 
dapple,  warmed  to  rose,  or  the  dense  metallic  sea  caught 
reflections  of  the  sunrise,  broadening  incandescence,  her 
errant  consciousness  was  again  cognizant  of,  subjected  to, 
her  immediate  surroundings.  She  was  aware,  moreover,  that 
the  morning  sharpness  began  to  take  a  too  unwarrantable 


THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  FOREST     327 

liberty  with  her  thinly  clad  person  for  comfort.  She 
hastily  locked  the  casements  together;  and  then  waited, 
somewhat  dazed  by  the  breathless  pace  of  her  strange  and 
tender  excursion,  looking  about  her  in  happy  amaze- 
ment. 

And,  so  doing,  her  eyes  lighted  upon  a  certain  oblong 
parcel  lying  on  her  dressing-table.  There  was  the  charm- 
ingly pleasant  something  which  awaited  her  attention !  A 
present,  and  the  most  costly,  the  most  enchanting  one  (save 
possibly  the  green  jade  elephant  of  her  childish  adoration) 
she  had  ever  received! 

She  picked  up,  not  only  the  precious  parcel,  but  a  hand- 
mirror  lying  near  it;  and,  thus  armed,  bestowed  herself, 
once  more,  in  her  still  warm  bed. 

The  last  forty-eight  hours  had  been  fertile  in  experiences 
and  in  events,  among  which  the  arrival  of  this  gift  could  by 
no  means  be  accounted  the  least  exciting. — Hordle  had 
brought  the  packet  here  to  her,  last  night,  about  an  hour 
after  she  and  her  father — standing  under  the  portico — 
waved  reluctant  farewells  to  Colonel  Carteret,  as  the  hotel 
omnibus  bore  him  and  his  baggage  away  to  the  station  to 
catch  the  mail  train  through  to  Paris.  This  parting,  when 
it  actually  came  about,  proved  more  distressing  than  she 
had  by  any  means  prefigured.  She  had  no  notion  before- 
hand what  a  really  dreadful  business  she  would  find  it, 
after  these  months  of  close  association,  to  say  good-bye  to 
tke  man  with  the  blue  eyes. 

"  We  shall  miss  you  at  every  turn,  dear,  dear  Colonel 
Sahib,"  she  almost  tearfully  assured  him.  "  How  we  are 
going  ever  to  live  without  you  I  don't  know." 

And  impulsively,  driven  by  the  excess  of  her  emotion  to 
the  point  of  forgetting  accustomed  habits  and  restraints, 
she  put  up  her  lips  for  a  kiss.  Which,  thus  invited,  kiss 
Carteret,  taking  her  face  in  both  hands  for  the  minute,  be- 
stowed upon  her  forehead  rather  than  upon  those  proffered 
lips.  Then  his  glance  met  Charles  Verity 's,  held  it  in  silent 
interchange  of  friendship  needing  no  words  to  declare  its 
quality  or  depth ;  and  he  turned  away  abruptly,  making  for 
the  inside  of  the  waiting  omnibus — cavernous  in  the  semi- 


328  DEADHAM  HARD 

darkness— distributing  largesse  to  all  and  sundry  as  he 
went. 

Damaris  was  aware  of  her  father's  arm  passed  through 
hers,  holding  her  against  his  side  with  a  steadying  pressure, 
as  they  went  together  across  the  hall  on  their  way  to  the 
first  floor  sitting-room.  Aware  of  poor,  pretty,  coughing 
little  Mrs.  Titherage's  raised  eyebrows  and  enquiring  stare, 
as  they  passed  her  with  her  coffee,  cigarette,  and  fat,  florid 
stock-broker  husband — who,  by  the  way,  had  the  grace  to 
keep  his  eyes  glued  to  the  patience  cards,  ranged  upon  the 
small  table  before  him,  until  father  and  daughter  were  a 
good  halfway  up  the  flight  of  stairs.  Later,  when  out- 
wardly mistress  of  herself,  the  inclination  to  tears  success- 
fully conquered  and  her  normal  half-playful  gravity  re- 
gained, she  went  to  her  bedroom,  Hordle  had  brought  her 
this  beguiling  packet. 

Inside  the  silver  paper  wrappings  she  found  a  red  leather 
jewel  case,  and  a  note  in  Carteret's  singularly  definite  hand, 
character  rather  than  script,  the  severe  yet  decorative 
quality  of  Arabic  about  it. 

"  To  the  dear  witch,"  it  read,  "  in  memory  of  our  in- 
comparable Henrietta's  dance,  and  of  the  midnight  walk 
which  followed  it,  and  of  our  hours  of  pleasant  sightsee- 
ing at  Marseilles." 

No  signature  followed,  only  the  date. 

Now,  sitting  up  in  bed,  while  the  day  came  into  full 
and  joyous  being,  Nature's  face  duly  decked  and  painted 
by  the  greatly  reconciling  sun,  Damaris  read  the  exquisitely 
written  note  again.  The  writing  in  itself  moved  her  with 
a  certain  homesickness  for  the  East,  which  it  seemed  in 
some  sort  to  embody  and  from  which  to  hail.  Then  mean- 
ings she  detected,  behind  the  apparently  light-hearted 
words,  filled  her  with  gratitude.  They  reminded  her  gently 
of  duties  accepted,  promises  made.  They  gathered  in  Fair- 
cloth,  too,  by  implication;  thus  assuring  her  of  sympathy 
and  approval  where  she  needed  them  most. 

She  opened  the  case  and,  taking  out  the  string  of  pearls 
it  contained,  turned  them  about  and  about,  examining, 
counting,  admiring  their  lustre  and  ethereal  loveliness. 


THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  FOREST     329 

They  were  graduated  from  the  size  of  a  hemp-seed,  so  she 
illustrated  it,  on  either  side  the  diamond  clasp,  to  that  of  a 
marrow-fat  pea.  Not  all  of  them — and  this  charmed  her 
fancy  as  giving  them  individuality  and  separate  life — were 
faultlessly  perfect ;  but  had  minute  irregularities  of  shape, 
tiny  dimples  in  which  a  special  radiance  hovered.  She 
clasped  the  necklace  round  her  throat,  and,  holding  up  the 
hand-mirror,  turned  her  head  from  side  to  side — with 
pardonable  vanity — to  judge  and  enjoy  the  effect. 

Damaris  was  unlearned  in  the  commercial  value  of  such 
treasures ;  nor  did  money  seem  exactly  a  graceful  or  pretty 
thing — in  some  respects  our  maiden  was  possessed  of  a 
very  unworldly  innocence — to  think  of  in  connection  with 
a  present.  Still  she  found  it  impossible  not  to  regard  these 
jewels  with  a  certain  awe.  What  the  dear  Colonel  Sahib 
must  have  spent  on  them!  A  small  fortune  she  feared. 
In  the  buying  of  this  all-too-costly-  gift,  then,  consisted  that 
business  transaction  he  had  made  the  excuse  for  leaving 
her  alone  with  Faircloth,  upon  the  quay  alongside  which 
lay  the  Forest  Queen.  , 

Oh!  he  surpassed  himself!  Was  too  indulgent,  too 
munificent  to  her ! — As  on  a  former  occasion,  she  totted  up 
the  sum  of  his  good  deeds.  Hadn't  he  given  up  his  winter's 
sport  for  her  sake?  Didn't  she — and  wouldn't  an  admir- 
ing English  reading  public  presently — owe  to  his  sugges- 
tion her  father's  noble  book?  When  she  had  run  wild  for 
a  space,  and  sold  herself  to  unworthy  frivolities,  hadn't 
iie  led  her  back  into  the  right  road,  and  that  with  the  light- 
est, courtliest,  hand  imaginable,  making  all  harmonious 
and  sweetly  perfect,  once  more,  between  her  father  and 
herself?  Lastly,  hadn't  he  procured  her  her  heart's  desire 
in  the  meeting  with  Darcy  Faircloth — and,  incidentally, 
given  her  the  relief  of  free  speech,  now  and  whenever  she 
might  desire  to  claim  it,  concerning  the  strange  and 
secret  relationship  which  dominated  her  imagination  and 
so  enriched  the  hidden  places  of  her  daily  life  and 
thought? 

Damaris  held  up  the  hand-mirror  contemplating  his  gift, 
this  necklace  of  pearls;  and,  from  that,  by  unconscious 


330  DEADHAM  HARD 

transition  fell  to  contemplating  her  own  face.  It  interested 
her.  She  looked  at  it  critically,  as  at  some  face  other  than 
her  own,  some  portrait,  appraising  and  studying  it.  It  was 
young  and  fresh,  surely,  as  the  morn — in  its  softness  of 
contour  and  fine  clear  bloom;  yet  grave  to  the  verge  of 
austerity,  owing  partly  to  the  brown  hair  which,  parted 
in  the  middle  and  drawn  down  in  a  plain  full  sweep  over 
the  ears,  hung  thence  in  thick  loose  plait  on  either  side  to 
below  her  waist.  She  looked  long  and  curiously  into  her 
own  eyes,  "  dear  wonderful  eyes,"  as  Faircloth,  her 
brother,  so  deliciously  called  them.  And  with  that  her 
mouth  curved  into  a  smile,  sight  of  which  brought  recogni- 
tion, new  and  very  moving,  of  her  own  by  no  means  in- 
considerable beauty. 

She  went  red,  and  then  white  almost  as  her  white  night- 
dress and  the  white  pillows  behind  her.  Laid  the  mirror 
hastily  down,  and  held  her  face  in  both  hands  as — as 
Carteret  had  held  it  last  night,  at  the  moment  of  parting, 
when  he  had  kissed  not  her  lips  but  her  forehead.  Yet 
very  differently,  since  she  now  held  it  with  strained,  cling- 
ing fingers,  which  hurt,  making  marks  upon  the  flesh. — 
For  could  it  be  that — the  other  kind  of  love,  such  as  men 
bear  the  woman  of  their  choice,  which  dictated  Carteret 's 
unfailing  goodness  to  her — the  love  that  he  had  bitterly 
and  almost  roughly  defended  when  she  praised  the  love 
of  brother  and  sister  as  dearest,  purest,  and  therefore  above 
all  best? 

Was  it  conceivable  this  hero  of  a  hundred  almost  fabulous 
adventures,  of  hair-breath  escapes,  and  cunningly  defied 
dangers  in  Oriental,  semi-barbarous,  wholly  gorgeous, 
camps,  Courts  and  cities,  this  philosopher  of  gently  humor- 
ous equanimity,  who  appeared  to  weigh  all  things  in  an 
equal  balance  and  whom  she  had  regarded  as  belonging  to 
an  age  and  order  superior  to  her  own,  had  set  his  affec- 
tions upon  her  singling  her  out  from  among  all  possible 
others?  That  he  wanted  her  for  his  own,  wanted  her  ex- 
clusively and  as  his  inseparable  companion,  the  object 
Of 

A  sentence  from  the  English  marriage  service  flashed 


THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  FOREST     331 

across  her  mind. — ' '  With  my  body  I  thee  worship, ' '  it  ran, 
"  and  with  all  my  worldly  goods  I  thee  endow." 

' '  With  my  body  I  thee  worship  ' ' — He,  her  father 's  elect 
and  beloved  friend,  in  whom  she  had  always  so  beautifully 
trusted,  who  had  never  failed  her,  the  dear  man  with  the 
blue  eyes — and  she,  Damaris?  Her  womanhood,  revealed 
to  itself,  at  once  shrank  back  bewildered,  panic-stricken, 
and,  passion-stricken,  called  to  her  aloud. 

For  here  Carteret's  grace  of  bearing  and  of  person,  his 
clean  health,  physical  distinction  and  charm,  arose  and 
confronted  her.  The  visible,  tangible  attributes  of  the 
man — as  man — presented  themselves  in  fine  relief,  delight- 
ing her,  stirring  her  heretofore  dormant  senses,  begetting 
in  her  needs  and  desires  undreamed  of  until  now,  and,  even 
now,  in  substance  incomprehensible.  She  was  enchanted, 
fevered,  triumphant;  and  then — also  incomprehensibly — 
ashamed. 

As  the  minutes  passed,  though  the  triumph  continued  to 
subsist,  the  shame  subsisted  also,  so  that  the  two  jostled 
one  another  striving  for  the  mastery.  Damaris  took  her 
hands  from  her  face,  again  clasped  them  about  her  drawn- 
up  knees,  and  sat,  looking  straight  in  front  of  her  with 
sombre,  meditative  eyes.  To  use  a  phrase  of  her  childhood, 
she  was  busy  with  her  ' '  thinkings  ' ' ;  her  will  consciously 
hailing  emotion  to  the  judgment-seat  of  intelligence  for 
examination  and  for  sentence. 

If  this  was  what  people  commonly  understand  when  they 
speak  of  love,  if  this  was  the  love  concerning  which  novel- 
ists write  and  poets  sing — this  riot  of  the  blood  and  heady 
rapture,  this  conflict  of  shame  and  triumph  in  which  the 
animal  part  of  one  has  so  loud  a  word  to  say — she  didn't 
like  it.  It  was  upsetting,  to  the  confines  of  what  she  sup- 
posed drunkenness  must  be.  It  spoilt  things  heretofore 
exquisite,  by  giving  them  too  high  a  colour,  too  violent  a 
flavour.  No — she  didn't  like  it.  Neither  did  she  like  herself 
in  relation  to  it — like  this  unknown,  storm-swept  Damaris. 
Nor — for  he,  alas !  couldn  't  escape  inclusion — this  new,  un- 
familiar presentment  of  the  man  with  the  blue  eyes.  Yet 
— and  here  was  a  puzzle  difficult  of  solution — even  while 


332  DEADHAM  HARD 

tliis  new  presentment  of  him,  and  conception  of  his  senti- 
ment towards  her,  pulled  him  down  from  his  accustomed 
pedestal  in  her  regard,  it  erected  for  him  another  pedestal, 
more  richly  sculptured  and  of  more  costly  material — since 
had  not  his  manifold  achievements,  the  whole  fine  legend 
as  well  as  the  whole  physical  perfection  of  him,  manifested 
themselves  to,  and  worked  upon  her  as  never  before? — 
Did  this  thing,  love,  then,  as  between  man  and  woman, 
spring  from  the  power  of  beauty  while  soiling  and  lowering 
beauty — bestow  on  it  an  hour  of  extravagant  effulgence, 
of  royal  blossoming,  only  to  degrade  it  in  the  end? — The 
puzzle  is  old  as  humanity,  old,  one  may  say,  as  sex.  Little 
wonder  if  Damaris,  sitting  up  in  her  maidenly  bedchamber, 
in  the  unsullied  brightness  of  the  early  morning  hour,  failed 
to  find  any  satisfactory  answer  to  it. 

Her  thoughts  ranged  out  to  the  other  members  of  her 
little  local  court — to  Peregrine  Ditton  and  Harry  Ellice, 
to  Marshall  Wace.  Had  they  personal  experience  of  this 
disquieting  matter?  Was  it  conceivable  the  boys'  silly 
rivalries  and  jealousies  concerning  her  took  their  rise  in 
this?  Did  it  inspire  the  fervour  of  Marshall  Wace's  sing- 
ing, his  flattering  dependence  on  her  sympathy? — Sus- 
picion widened.  Everywhere  she  seemed  to  find  hint  and 
suggestion  of  this — no,  she  wouldn't  too  distinctly  define 
it.  Let  it  remain  nameless. — Everywhere,  except  in  respect 
of  her  father  and  of  her  brother.  There  she  could  spend 
her  heart  in  peace.  She  sighed  with  a  sweetness  of 
relief,  unclasping  her  hands,  raising  her  fixed,  bowed 
head. 

The  hotel,  meanwhile,  was  sensibly  in  act  of  coming 
awake.  Doors  opened,  voices  called.  From  the  other  side 
of  the  corridor  sounded  poor  little  Mrs.  Titherage's  hack- 
ing cough,  increasing  to  a  convulsive  struggle  before,  the 
fit  at  last  passing  off,  it  sunk  into  temporary  quiescence. 
Andre,  the  stout,  middle-aged  valet  de  chambre,  hummed 
snatches  of  gay  melody  as  he  rubbed  and  polished  the 
parquet  flooring  without.  These  noises,  whether  cheerful 
or  the  contrary,  were  at  least  ordinary  enough.  By  degrees 
they  gained  Damaris'  ear,  drawing  her  mind  from  specula- 


THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  FOREST     333 

tion  regarding  the  nature,  origin,  prevalence  and  ethics  of 
love.  Soon  Pauline,  the  chamber-maid,  would  bring  her 
breakfast-tray,  coffee  and  rolls,  those  pale  wafer-like  pats 
of  butter  which  taste  so  good,  and  thin  squares  of  beetroot 
sugar  which  are  never  half  as  sweet  as  one  would  like. 
Would  bring  hot  water  and  her  bath,  too,  and  pay  her 
some  nicely  turned  little  compliment  as  to  the  becoming 
effect  of  her  night's  sleep. — Everything  would  pick  itself 
up,  in  short,  and  go  on,  naturally  and  comfortably  just  as 
before. 

Before  what? 

Damaris  straightened  the  hem  of  the  sheet  over  the 
billowing  edge  of  flowered  down  quilt ;  and,  while  so  doing, 
her  hand  came  in  contact  both  with  the  mirror  and  the 
open  jewel-case.  She  looked  at  this  last  with  an  expres- 
sion bordering  on  reproach,  unfastened  the  pearls  from 
her  throat,  and  laid  them  on  the  wadded,  cream-coloured 
velvet  lining.  She  delighted  to  possess  them  and  deplored 
possessing  them  in  the  same  breath.  They  spoke  to  her  too 
freely  and  conclusively,  told  her  too  much.  She  would 
rather  not  have  acquired  this  knowledge  either  of  Carteret 
or  of  herself. — If  it  really  were  knowledge? — Again  she 
repeated  the  question,  arising  from  the  increasing  normality 
of  surrounding  things — Before  what  ? 

For  when  all  was  said  and  done,  the  dear  man  with  the 
blue  eyes  had  veritably  and  very  really  departed.  Through- 
out the  night  his  train  had  been  rushing  north-north-west- 
ward to  Paris,  to  England,  to  that  Norfolk  manor-house 
of  his,  where  his  sister,  his  nephews,  all  his  home  interests 
and  occupations  awaited  him.  What  proof  had  she  that 
more  intimate  and  romantic  affairs  did  not  await  him  there, 
or  thereabouts,  also  ?  Had  not  she,  once  and  for  all,  learned 
the  lesson  that  a  man's  ways  are  different  and  contain 
many  unadvertised  occupations  and  interests?  If  he  had 
wished  to  say  something,  anything,  special  to  her,  before 
going  away,  how  easily — thus  she  saw  the  business — how 
easily  he  might  have  said  it !  But  he  hadn  't  spoken,  rather 
conspicuously,  indeed,  had  avoided  speaking.  Perhaps 
it  was  all  a  silly,  conceited  mistake  of  her  own — a  delusion 


334  DEADHAM  HARD 

and  one  not  particularly  creditable  either  to  her  intelligence 
or  her  modesty. 

Damaris  shut  up  the  jewel-case.  The  pearls  were  en- 
trancing ;  but  somehow  she  did  not  seem  to  think  she  cared 
to  look  at  them  any  more — just  now. 

When  her  breakfast  arrived  she  ate  it  in  a  pensive  frame 
of  mind.  In  a  like  frame  of  mind  she  went  through  the 
routine  of  her  toilette.  She  felt  oddly  tired;  oddly  shy, 
moreover,  of  her  looking-glass. 

Miss  Felicia  Verity  had  made  a  tentative  proposal,  about 
a  week  before,  of  joining  her  niece  and  her  brother  upon 
the  Riviera.  She  reported  much  discomfort  from  rheuma- 
tism daring  the  past  winter.  Her  doctor  advised  a  change 
of  climate.  Damaris,  while  brushing  and  doing  up  her  hair, 
discovered  in  herself  a  warm  desire  for  Miss  Felicia's  com- 
pany. She  craved  for  a  woman — not  to  confide  in,  but  to 
somehow  shelter  behind.  And  Aunt  Felicia  was  so  perfect 
in  that  way.  She  took  what  you  gave  in  a  spirit  of  grati- 
tude almost  pathetic;  and  never  asked  for  what  you  didn't 
give,  never  seemed  even  to,  for  an  instant,  imagine  there 
was  anything  you  withheld  from  her.  It  would  be  a  rest 
— a  really  tremendous  rest,  to  have  Aunt  Felicia.  She — 
Damaris — would  propound  the  plan  to  her  father  as  soon 
as  she  went  downstairs. 

After  luncheon  and  a  walk  with  Sir  Charles,  her  courage 
being  higher,  she  repented  in  respect  of  the  pearl  necklace. 
Put  it  on — and  with  results.  For  that  afternoon  Henrietta 
Frayling — hungry  for  activity,  hungry  for  prey,  after  her 
prolonged  abstention  from  society — very  effectively  floated 
into  the  forefront  of  the  local  scene. 


CHAPTER  XII 


A^J  unheralded  invasion  on  the  part  of  the  physician 
from  Cannes  had  delayed,  by  a  day,  Henrietta's 
promised  descent  upon,  or  rather  ascent  to,  the  Grand 
Hotel. 

That  gentleman,  whose  avaricious  pale  grey  eye  belied 
the  extreme  silkiness  of  his  manner — having  been  called  to 
minister  to  Lady  Hermione  Twells  in  respect  of  some  minor 
ailment — elected  to  put  in  the  overtime,  between  two  trains, 
in  a  visit  to  General  Frayling.  For  the  date  drew  near  of 
his  yearly  removal  from  the  Riviera  to  Cotteret-les-Bains, 
in  the  Ardennes,  where,  during  the  summer  season,  he  ex- 
ploited the  physical  infelicities  and  mental  credulities  of 
his  more  wealthy  fellow-creatures.  The  etdblissement  at 
Cotteret  was  run  by  a  syndicate,  in  which  Dr.  Stewart- 
Walker  held — in  the  name  of  an  obliging  friend  and  solici- 
tor— a  preponderating  number  of  shares.  At  this  period 
of  the  spring  he  always  became  anxious  to  clear  up,  not 
to  say  clear  out,  his  southern  clientele  lest  any  left-over 
members  of  it  should  fall  into  the  clutches  of  one  of  his 
numerous  local  rivals.  And,  in  this  connection,  it  may  be 
noted  as  remarkable  to  how  many  of  the  said  clientele  a 
' '  cure  ' '  at  Cotteret-les-Bains  offered  assurance  of  perma- 
nent restoration  to  health. 

Among  that  happy  band,  as-  it  now  appeared,  General 
Frayling  might  be  counted.  The  dry,  exciting  climate 
of  St.  Augustin,  and  its  near  neighbourhood  to  the  sea, 
were  calculated  to  aggravate  the  gastric  complications 
from  which  that  polite  little  warrior  so  distressingly  suf- 
fered. 

"  This,  I  fear  we  must  recognize,  my  dear  madam,  is  a 
critical  period  with  your  husband ;  and  treatment,  for  the 

335 


336  DEADHAM  HARD 

next  six  months  or  so,  is  of  cardinal  importance;  I  con- 
sider high  inland  air,  if  possible  forest  air,  indispensable. 
What  I  should  like  you  to  do  is  to  take  our  patient  north 
by  slow  stages ;  and  I  earnestly  counsel  a  course  of  waters 
before  the  return  to  England  is  attempted." 

Thereupon,  agreeable  visions  of  festive  toilettes  and 
festive  casinos  flitting  through  Henrietta 's  mind,  she  named 
Homburg  and  other  German  spas  of  world-wide  popularity. 
But  at  such  ultra-fashionable  resorts,  as  Dr.  Stewart- 
Walker,  with  a  suitable  air  of  regret,  reminded  her,  the 
season  did  not  open  until  too  late  to  meet  existing  re- 
quirements. 

"  Let  me  think,  let  me  think,"  he  repeated,  head  sagely 
bent  and  forefinger  on  lip. 

He  ran  through  a  mnaber  of  Latin  terms,  to  her  in  the 
main  incomprehensible;  then  looked  up,  relieved  and  en- 
couraging. 

"  Yes,  we  might,  I  believe,  safely  try  it.  The  medical 
properties  of  the  springs — particularly  those  of  La  Nonnette 
— meet  our  patient's  case  excellently.  And  I  should  not 
lose  sight  of  him — a  point,  I  own,  with  me,  for  your  hus- 
band's condition  presents  features  of  peculiar  interest. 
Cotteret-les-Bains,  my  dear  madam — in  his  case  I  can 
confidently  recommend  it.  Lady  Hermione  talks  of  taking 
the  cure  at  Cotteret  this  spring.  But  about  that  we  shall 
see — we  shall  see.  The  question  demands  consideration. 
As  you  know,  Lady  Hermione  is  charmingly  outspoken, 
emphatic ;  but  I  should  be  false  to  my  professional  honour, 
were  I  to  allow  her  wishes  to  colour  my  judgment. — Mean- 
while I  have  reason  to  know  that  other  agreeable  people 
are  going  to  Cotteret  shortly.  Not  the  rank  and  file.  For 
such  the  place  does  not  pretend  to  cater.  There  the  lucra- 
tive stock-broker,  or  lucrative  Jew,  is  still  a  rara  avis. 
Long  may  he  continue  to  be  so,  and  Cotteret  continue  to 
pride  itself  on  its  exclusiveness ! — In  that  particular  it 
will  admirably  suit  you,  Mrs.  Frayling." 

To  a  compliment  so  nicely  turned  Henrietta  could  not 
remain  insensible.  Before  the  destined  train  bore  Dr. 
Stewart- Walker  back  to  his  more  legitimate  zone  of  practise, 


THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  FOREST     337 

she  saw  herself  committed  to  an  early  striking  of  camp, 
with  this  obscure,  if  select,  mile  d'eaux  as  her  destination. 

In  some  respects  the  prospect  did  not  smile  on  her.  Yet 
as,  next  day,  emancipated  at  length  from  monotonies  of  the 
sick-chamber,  she  drove  behind  the  free-moving  little 
chestnut  horses  through  the  streets  of  the  town — sleepy 
in  the  hot  afternoon  quiet — and  along  the  white  glaring 
esplanade,  Henrietta  admitted  the  existence  of  compensa- 
tions. In  the  brilliant  setting  of  some  world-famous 
German  spa,  though  she — as  she  believed — would  have  been 
perfectly  at  her  ease,  what  about  her  companions?  For 
in  such  scenes  of  high  fashion,  her  own  good  clothes  are 
not  sufficient  lifebelt  to  keep  a  pretty  woman  quite  com- 
placently afloat.  Your  male  associates  must  render  you 
support,  be  capable  of  looking  the  part  and  playing  up 
generally,  if  your  enjoyment  is  to  be  complete.  And  for 
all  that  Marshall  Wace,  frankly,  couldn't  be  depended  on. 
Not  only  was  he  too  unmistakably  English  and  of  the 
middle-class;  but  the  clerical  profession,  although  he  had 
so  unfortunately  failed  it,  or  it  so  unkindly  rejected  him, 
still  seemed  to  soak  through,  somehow,  when  you  saw  him 
in  public.  A  whiff  of  the  vestry  queerly  clung  to  his  coats 
and  his  trousers,  thus  meanly  giving  away  his  relinquished 
ambitions ;  unless,  and  that  was  worse  still,  essaying  to  be 
extra  smart,  a  taint  of  the  footlights  declared  itself  in  the 
over  florid  curl  of  a  hat-brim  or  sample  of  "  neck-wear." 
To  head  a  domestic  procession,  in  eminently  cosmopolitan 
circles,  composed  of  a  small,  elderly,  very  palpable  invalid 
and  a  probable  curate  in  mufti,  demanded  an  order  of 
courage  to  which  Henrietta  felt  herself  entirely  unequal. 
Preferable  the  obscurity  of  Cotteret-lee-Bains — gracious 
heaven,  ten  thousand  times  preferable ! 

Did  not  Dr.  Stewart-Walker,  moreover,  hold  out  hopes 
that,  by  following  his  advice,  the  General's  strength  might 
be  renewed,  if  not  precisely  like  that  of  the  eagle,  yet  in  the 
more  modest  likeness  of  some  good,  biddable,  burden-bear- 
ing animal — the  patient  ass,  if  one  might  so  put  it  without 
too  obvious  irony?  As  handyman,  aide-de-camp,  and,  on 
occasion,  her  groom  of  the  chambers,  the  General  had  de- 


338  DEADHAM  HARD 

served  very  well  of  Henrietta.  He  had  earned  her  sincere 
commendation.  To  restore  him  to  that  level  of  convenient 
activity  was,  naturally,  her  main  object ;  and  if  a  sojourn  at 
some  rather  dull  spot  in  the  Ardennes,  promised  to  secure 
this  desired  end,  let  it  be  accepted  without  hesitation.  For 
the  proverbial  creaking,  yet  long-hanging,  gate — here 
Henrietta  had  the  delicacy  to  take  refuge  in  hyperbole — 
she  had  no  liking  whatever.  She  could  not  remember  the 
time  when  Darby  and  Joan  had  struck  her  as  an  otherwise 
than  preposterous  couple,  offspring  of  a  positively  degraded 
sentimentality. 

But  there,  since  it  threatened  depressing  conclusions, 
Henrietta  agreed  with  herself  to  pursue  the  line  of  re- 
flection no  further. — "  Sufficient  unto  the  day  " — to  look 
beyond  is,  the  thirties  once  passed,  to  raise  superfluous 
spectres.  And  this  day,  in  itself  supplied  food  for  reflec- 
tions of  a  quite  other  character;  ones  which  set  both  her 
curiosity  and  partiality  for  intrigue  quite  legitimately  afire. 

The  morning  post  had  brought  her  a  missive  from  Colonel 
Carteret  announcing  his  "  recall  "  to  England,  and  de- 
ploring the  imposed  haste  of  it  as  preventing  him  from 
making  his  adieux  to  her  in  person.  The  letter  contained 
a  number  of  flattering  tributes  to  her  own  charms  and  to 
old  times  in  India,  the  pleasures  of  which — unforgettable 
by  him — he  had  had  the  happiness  of  sharing  with  her. 
Yet — to  her  reading  of  it — this  friendly  communication 
remained  enigmatic,  its  kindly  sentences  punctuated  by 
more  than  one  interjectional  enquiry.  Namely,  what  was 
the  cause  of  this  sudden  "  recall  "?  And  what  was  his 
reason  for  not  coming  to  say  good-bye  to  her?  Haste,  she 
held  an  excuse  of  almost  childish  transparency.  It  went 
deeper  than  that.  Simply  he  had  wanted  not  to  see  her. 

Since  the  night  of  the  dance  no  opportunity  had  occurred 
for  observing  Carteret  and  Damaris  when  together. — 
Really,  how  General  Frayling's  tiresome  illness  shipwrecked 
her  private  plans! — And,  from  the  beginning,  she  had 
entertained  an  uneasy  suspicion  regarding  Carteret 's  atti- 
tude. Men  can  be  so  extraordinarily  feeble-minded  where 
young  girls  are  concerned !  Had  anything  happened  during 


THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  FOREST     339 

her  withdrawal  from  society?  In  the  light,  or  rather  the 
obscurity,  of  Carteret's  letter,  a  visit  to  Damaris  became 
more  than  ever  imperative. 

Her  own  competence  to  extract  the  truth  from  that  guile- 
less maiden,  Henrietta  in  nowise  questioned.  "  The  child," 
she  complacently  told  herself,  when  preparing  to  set  forth 
on  her  mission,  "  is  like  wax  in  my  hands." 

The  above  conviction  she  repeated  now,  as  the  horses 
swept  the  victoria  along  the  shore  road,  while  from  beneath 
her  white  umbrella  she  absently  watched  the  alternate  lift 
and  plunge  of  the  dazzling  ultramarine  and  Tyrian  purple 
sea  upon  the  polished  rocks  and  pebbles  of  the  shelving 
beach. 

To  Henrietta  Nature,  save  as  decoration  to  the  human 
drama,  meant  nothing.  But  the  day  was  hot,  for  the  time 
of  year  royally  so,  and  this  rejoiced  her.  She  basked  in  the 
sunshine  with  a  cat-like  luxury  of  content.  Her  hands 
never  grew  moist  in  the  heat,  nor  her  hair  untidy,  her  skin 
unbecomingly  red,  nor  her  general  appearance  in  the  least 
degree  blousy.  She  remained  enchantingly  intact,  unaf- 
fected, except  for  an  added  glint,  an  added  refinement. 
To-day's  temperature  justified  the  adoption  of  summer  at- 
tire, of  those  thin,  clear-coloured  silk  and  muslin  fabrics 
so  deliciously  to  her  taste.  She  wore  a  lavender  dress. 
It  was  new,  every  pleat  and  frill  inviolate,  at  their  crispest 
and  most  uncrumpled.  In  this  she  found  a  fund  of  perma- 
nent satisfaction  steeling  her  to  intrepid  enterprise. 

Hence  she  scorned  all  ceremonies  of  introduction.  She 
dared  to  pounce.  Having  ascertained  the  number  of  Sir 
Charles  Verity's  sitting-room  she  refused  obsequious  escort, 
tripped  straight  upstairs  unattended,  rapped  lightly,  opened 
the  door  and — with  swift  reconnoitering  of  the  scene  within 
—announced  her  advent  thus : 

"  Damaris,  are  you  there?  Ah!  yes.  Darling  child.  At 
last!" 

During  that  reconnoitering  she  inventoried  impressions 
of  the  room  and  its  contents. — Cool,  first — blue  walls,  blue 
carpet,  blue  upholstering  of  sofa  and  of  chairs.  Not  worn 
or  shabby,  but  so  graciously  faded  by  sun  and  air,  that 


340  DEADHAM  HARD 

this — decoratively  speaking — most  perilous  of  colours  be- 
came innocuous,  in  a  way  studious,  in  keeping  with  a  large 
writing-table  occupying  the  centre  of  the  picture,  laden 
with  manuscripts  and  with  books.  The  wooden  outside 
shutters  of  two  of  the  three  windows  were  closed,  which 
enhanced  the  prevailing  coolness  and  studiousness  of  effect. 
Red  cushions,  also  agreeably  faded,  upon  the  window-seats, 
alone  echoed,  in  some  degree,  the  hot  radiance  obtaining  out 
of  doors — these,  and  a  red  enamelled  vase  holding  sprays  of 
yellow  and  orange-copper  roses,  placed  upon  a  smaller  table 
before  which  Damaris  sat,  her  back  towards  the  invader. 

At  the  sound  of  the  latter 's  voice,  the  girl  started,  raised 
her  head  and,  in  the  act  of  looking  round,  swept  together 
some  scattered  sheets  of  note-paper  and  shut  her  blotting- 
book. 

' '  Henrietta !  ' '  she  cried,  and  thereupon  sprang  up ;  the 
lady,  meanwhile,  advancing  towards  her  with  outstretched 
arms,  which  enclosed  her  in  a  fragrant  embrace. 

"  Yes — nothing  less  than  Henrietta  " — imprinting  light 
kisses  on  either  cheek.  "  But  I  see  you  are  busy  writing 
letters,  dearest  child.  I  am  in  the  way — I  interrupt  you  ?  ' ' 

And,  as  Damaris  hastily  denied  that  such  was  the  case: 

"  Ah!  but  I  do,"  she  repeated.  "  I  have  no  right  to 
dart  in  on  you  thus  d  I'improviste.  It  is  hardly  treating 
such  an  impressive  young  person — absolutely  I  believe  you 
have  grown  since  I  saw  you  last ! — yes,  you  are  taller,  darl- 
ing child — handsomer  than  ever,  and  a  tiny  bit  alarming 
too — what  have  you  been  doing  with,  or  to,  or  by  yourself? 
— Treating  her — the  impressive  young  person,  I  mean — 
with  proper  respect.  But  it  was  such  a  chance.  I  learnt 
that  you  were  alone  " — A  fib,  alas!  on  Henrietta's  part. — 
"  And  I  couldn't  resist  coming.  I  so  longed  to  have  you, 
like  this,  all  to  myself.  What  an  eternity  since  we  met ! — 
For  me  a  wearing,  ageing  eternity.  The  duties  of  a  sick- 
room are  so  horribly  anxious,  yet  so  deadening  in  their 
repetition  of  ignoble  details.  I  could  not  go  through  with 
them,  honestly  I  could  not — though  I  realize  it  is  a  damn- 
ing admission  for  a  woman  to  make — if  it  wasn't  that  I 
am  rather  absurdly  attached  to  what  good  Dr.  Stewart- 


THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  FOREST     341 

Walker  persists  in  calling  '  our  patient.'  Is  not  that 
enough  in  itself  ? — To  fall  from  all  normal  titles  and  digni- 
ties and  become  merely  a  patient?  No,  joking  apart,  only 
affection  makes  nursing  in  any  degree  endurable  to  me. 
Without  its  saving  grace  the  whole  business  would  be  too 
unpardonably  sordid." 

She  pursed  up  her  lips,  and  shivered  her  graceful 
shoulders  with  the  neatest  exposition  of  delicate  distaste. 

"  And  too  gross.  But  one  must  face  and  accept  the 
pathetic  risk  of  being  eventually  converted  in  garde  malade 
thus,  if  one  chooses  to  marry  a  man  considerably  older  than 
oneself.  It  is  a  mistake.  I  say  so  though  I  committed  it 
with  my  eyes  open.  I  was  betrayed  by  my  affection." 

As  she  finished  speaking  Henrietta  stepped  across  to  the 
sofa  and  sat  down.  The  airy  perfection  of  her  appearance 
lent  point  to  the  plaintive  character  of  this  concluding 
sentence.  The  hot  day,  the  summer  costume — possibly  the 
shaded  room  also — combined  to  strip  away  a  good  ten  years 
from  her  record.  Any  hardness,  any  faint  sense  of  annoy- 
ance, which  Damaris  experienced  at  the  abruptness  of  her 
guest's  intrusion  melted.  Henrietta  in  her  existing  aspect, 
her  existing  mood  proved  irresistible.  Our  tender-hearted 
maiden  was  charmed  by  her  and  coerced. 

"  But  General  Frayling  is  better,  isn't  he?  "  she  asked, 
also  taking  her  place  upon  the  sofa.  "  You  are  not  any 
longer  in  any  serious  anxiety  about  him,  darling  Henrietta  ? 
All  danger  is  past?  " 

"  Oh,  yes — he  is  better  of  course,  or  how  could  I  be  here? 
But  I  have  received  a  shock  that  makes  me  dread  the 
future." 

Which  was  true,  though  in  a  sense  other  than  that  in 
which  her  hearer  comprehended  it.  For  the  studious  at- 
mosphere of  the  room  reacted  upon  Henrietta,  as  did  its 
many  silent  testimonies  to  Sir  Charles  Verity's  constant 
habitation.  This  was  his  workshop.  She  felt  acutely  con- 
scious of  him  here,  nearer  to  him  in  idea  and  in  sentiment 
than  for  many  years  past.  The  fact  that  he  did  still 
work,  sought  new  fields  to  conquer,  excited  both  her  ad- 
miration and  her  regrets.  He  disdained  to  be  laid  on  the 


342  DEADHAM  HARD 

shelf,  got  calmly  and  forcefully  down  off  the  shelf  and 
spent  his  energies  in  fresh  undertakings.  Once  upon  a 
time  she  posed  as  his  Egeria,  fancying  herself  vastly  in  the 
part.  During  the  Egerian  period  she  lived  at  a  higher 
intellectual  and  emotional  level  than  ever  before  or  since, 
exerting  every  particle  of  brain  she  possessed  to  maintain 
that  level.  The  petty  interests  of  her  present  existence, 
still  more,  perhaps,  the  poor  odd  and  end  of  a  yellow  little 
General  in  his  infinitely  futile  sick-bed,  shrank  to  a  desolat- 
ing insufficiency.  Surely  she  was  worthy — had,  anyway, 
once  been  worthy — of  better  things  than  that?  The 
lavender  dress,  notwithstanding  its  still  radiantly  un- 
crumpled  condition,  came  near  losing  its  spell.  No  longer 
did  she  trust  in  it  as  in  shining  armour.  Her  humour 
soured.  She  instinctively  inclined  to  revenge  herself  upon 
the  nearest  sentient  object  available — namely  to  stick  pins 
into  Damaris. 

"  Sweetest  child,"  she  said,  "  you  can't  imagine  how 
much  this  room  means  to  me  through  its  association  with 
your  father 's  wonderful  book. — Oh !  yes,  I  know  a  lot  about 
the  book.  Colonel  Carteret  has  not  failed  to  advertise 
his  acquaintance  with  it.  But,  what  have  I  said  ?  ' ' 

For  at  mention  of  that  gentleman 's  name  Damaris,  so  she 
fancied,  changed  colour,  the  bloom  fading  upon  her  cheeks, 
while  her  glance  became  reserved,  at  once  proud  and  slightly 
anxious. 

"  Is  it  forbidden  to  mention  the  wonderful  book  at  this 
stage  of  its  development?  Though  even  if  it  were,"  she 
added,  with  a  rather  impish  laugh,  looking  down  at  and 
fingering  the  little  bunch  of  trinkets,  attached  to  a  long 
gold  chain,  which  rested  in  her  lap — "  Carteret  would 
hardly  succeed  in  holding  his  peace.  Speak  of  everything, 
sooner  or  later,  he  must." 

She  felt  rather  than  saw  Damaris'  figure  grow  rigid. 

"  Have  you  ever  detected  that  small  weakness  in  him? 
But  probably  not.  He  keeps  overflowings  for  the  elder 
members  of  his  acquaintance,  and  in  the  case  of  the  younger 
ones  does  exercise  some  caution.  Ah !  yes,  I  Ve  no  doubt  he 
seems  to  you  a  model  of  discretion.  Yet,  in  point  of  fact, 


THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  FOREST     343 

when  you've  known  him  as  long  as  I,  you  will  have  dis- 
covered he  is  a  more  than  sufficiently  extensive  sieve." 

Then,  fearing  she  had  gone  rather  far,  since  Damaris 
remained  rigid  and  silent : 

"  Not  a  malicious  sieve,"  the  lady  hastened  to  add,  rais- 
ing her  eyes.  ' '  I  don 't  imply  that  for  a  single  instant.  On 
the  contrary  I  incline  to  believe  that  his  attitude  of  uni- 
versal benevolence  is  to  blame  for  this  inclination  to  gossip. 
It  is  so  great,  so  all-enclosing,  that  I  can't  help  feeling  it 
blunts  his  sense  of  right  and  wrong  to  some  extent.  He  is 
the  least  censorious  of  men  and  therefore — though  it  may 
sound  cynical  to  say  so — I  don't  entirely  trust  his  judg- 
ment. He  is  too  ready  to  make  excuses  for  everyone. — But, 
my  precious  child,  what's  the  matter?  What  makes  you 
look  so  terrifically  solemn  and  severe?  " 

And  playfully  she  put  her  hand  under  the  girl's  chin, 
drawing  the  grave  face  towards  her,  smilingly  studying, 
then  lightly  and  daintily  kissing  it.  In  the  course  of  this 
affectionate  interlude,  the  string  of  pearls  round  Damaris' 
throat,  until  now  hidden  by  the  V-shaped  collar  of  her 
soft  lawn  shirt,  caught  Henrietta's  eye.  Their  size,  lustre 
and  worth  came  near  extracting  a  veritable  shriek  of  en- 
quiry and  jealous  admiration  from  her.  But  with  praise- 
worthy promptitude  she  stifled  her  astonishment  and  now 
really  rampant  curiosity.  Damaris  but  half  yielded  to  her 
blandishments.  She  must  cajole  more  successfully  before 
venturing  to  request  explanation.  Therefore  she  cried, 
soothingly,  coaxfully: 

"  There — there — descend  from  those  imposing  heights  of 
solemnity,  or  upon  my  word  you  will  make  me  think  my 
poor  little  visit  displeases  and  bores  you.  That  would  be 
peculiarly  grievous  to  me,  since  it  is,  in  all  probability,  my 
last." 

"  Your  last?  "  Damaris  exclaimed. 

"  Yes,  darling  child,  the  fiat,  alas!  has  gone  forth.  We 
are  ordered  away  and  start  for  Cotteret-les-Bains  in  a  day 
or  two.  Dr.  Stewart- Walker  considers  the  move  imperative 
on  account  of  General  Frayling's  health.  This  was  only 
settled  yesterday.  Marshall  would  have  rushed  here  to  tell 


344  DEADHAM  HARD 

you ;  but  I  forbade  him.  I  felt  I  must  tell  you  myself.  I 
confess  it  is  a  blow  to  me.  Our  tenancy  of  the  Pavilion  ex- 
pires at  the  end  of  the  month;  but  I  proposed  asking  for 
an  extension,  and,  if  that  failed,  taking  up  our  abode  at 
the  hotel  for  a  while.  To  me  Dr.  Stewart-Walker's  orders 
come  as  a  bitter  disappointment,  for  I  counted  on  remain- 
ing until  Easter — remaining  just  as  long  as  you  and  Sir 
Charles  and  Carteret  remained,  in  fact." 

Here  the  bloom,  far  from  further  extinction,  warmed  to  a 
lovely  blush.  Henrietta 's  curiosity  craned  its  naughty  neck 
standing  on  tiptoe.  But,  the  blush  notwithstanding, 
Damaris  looked  at  her  with  such  sincerity  of  quickening 
affection  and  of  sympathy  that  she  again  postponed  cross- 
examination. 

For  over  this  piece  of  news  our  maiden  could — in  its 
superficial  aspects  at  all  events — lament  in  perfect  good 
faith.  She  proceeded  to  do  so,  eagerly  embracing  the 
opportunity  to  offer  thanks  and  praise.  All  Henrietta's 
merits  sprang  into  convincing  evidence.  Had  not  her  hospi- 
tality been  unstinted — the  whole  English  colony  had  cause 
to  mourn. 

"  But  for  you  they'd  still  be  staring  at  one  another,  brist- 
ling like  so  many  strange  dogs, ' '  Damaris  said.  ' '  And  you 
smoothed  them  all  down  so  divertingly.  Oh!  you  were 
beautifully  clever  in  that.  It  was  a  lesson  in  the  art  of  the 
complete  hostess.  While,  as  for  me,  Henrietta,  you've 
simply  spoiled  me.  I  can  never  thank  you  enough.  Think 
of  the  amusements  past  counting  you  planned  for  me,  the 
excursions  you've  let  me  share  with  you — our  delicious 
drives,  and  above  all  my  coming-out  dance." 

Whereat  Mrs.  Fray  ling  disclaimingly  shook  her  very 
pretty  head. 

"  In  pleasing  you  I  have  merely  pleased  myself,  dearest, 
so  in  that  there's  no  merit. — Though  I  do  plead  guilty 
to  but  languid  enthusiasm  for  girls  of  your  age  as  a  rule. 
Their  conversation  and  opinions  are  liable  to  set  my  teeth 
a  good  deal  on  edge.  I  have  small  patience,  I'm  afraid,  at 
the  disposal  of  feminine  beings  at  once  so  omniscient  and 
so  alarmingly  unripe. — But  you  see,  a  certain  downy  owl, 


THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  FOREST      345 

with  saucer  eyes  and  fierce  little  beak,  won  my  heart  by  its 
beguiling  ways  a  dozen  years  ago." 

"  Darling  Henrietta!  "  Damaris  softly  murmured;  and, 
transported  by  sentiment  to  that  earlier  date  when  the 
said  darling  Henrietta  commanded  her  unqualified  adora- 
tion, began  playing  with  the  well-remembered  bunch  of 
trinkets  depending  from  the  long  gold  chain  the  lady  wore 
about  her  neck. 

Watching  her,  Mrs.  Frayling  sighed. 

"  Ah,  my  child,  the  thought  of  you  is  inextricably  joined 
to  other  thoughts  upon  which  I  should  be  far  wiser  not  to 
dwell — far  wiser  to  put  from  me  and  forget — only  they 
are  stronger  than  I  am — and  I  can't." 

There  was  a  ring  of  honest  human  feeling  in  Henrietta 
Frayling 's  voice  for  once. 

"  No,  no — I  am  more  justly  an  object  of  commiseration 
than  anyone  I  leave  behind  me  at  St.  Augustin." 

And  again  she  laughed,  not  impishly,  but  with  a  hardness 
altogether  astonishing  to  her  auditor. 

' l  Think, ' '  she  cried,  ' '  of  my  sorry  fate ! — Not  only  a 
wretchedly  ailing  husband  on  my  hands,  needing  attention 
day  and  night,  but  a  wretchedly  disconsolate  young  lover 
as  well.  For  poor  Marshall  will  be  inconsolable — only  too 
clearly  do  I  foresee  that. — Picture  what  a  pair  for  one's 
portion  week  in  and  week  out ! — Whereas  you,  enviable  be- 
ing, are  sure  of  the  most  inspiring  society.  Everything  in 
this  quiet  room  " 

She  indicated  the  laden  writing-table  with  a  quick,  flit- 
ting gesture. 

"  So  refreshingly  removed  from  the  ordinary  banal  hotel 
salon — is  eloquent  of  the  absorbing,  far-reaching  pursuits 
and  interests  amongst  which  you  live.  Who  could  ask  a 
higher  privilege  than  to  share  your  father's  work,  to  be 
his  companion  and  amanuensis?  " — She  paused,  as  em- 
phasising the  point,  and  then  mockingly  threw  off — "  Plus 
the  smart  beau  sabreur  Carteret,  as  devoted  bodyguard  and 
escort,  whenever  you  are  not  on  duty.  To  few  women  of 
your  age,  or  indeed  of  any  age,  is  Fortune  so  indulgent  a 
fairy  godmother  as  that!  " 


346  DEADHAM  HARD 

Astonished  and  slightly  resentful  at  the  sharpness  of  her 
guest's  unprovoked  onslaught,  Damaris  had  dropped  the 
little  bunch  of  trinkets  and  backed  into  her  corner  of  the 
sofa. 

"  Colonel  Carteret  has  gone,"  she  said  coldly,  rather 
irrelevantly,  the  statement  drawn  from  her  by  a  vague 
instinct  of  self-defence. 

' '  Gone !  ' '  Henrietta  echoed,  with  equal  irrelevance.  For 
she  was  singularly  discomposed. 

"  Yes,  he  started  for  England  last  night.  But  you  must 
know  that  already,  Henrietta.  He  wrote  to  you — he  told 
me  so  himself." 

But  having  once  committed  herself  by  use  of  a  word 
implying  ignorance,  Mrs.  Frayling  could  hardly  do  other- 
wise than  continue  the  deception.  Explanation  would  be 
too  awkward  a  business.  The  chances  of  detection,  more- 
over, were  infinitesimal.  There  were  things  she  meant  to 
say  which  would  sound  far  more  unstudied  and  obvious 
could  she  keep  up  the  fiction  of  ignorance.  This,  quickly 
realizing,  she  again  and  more  flagrantly  fibbed.  The  volun- 
tary lie  acts  as  a  tonic  giving  you — for  the  moment  at 
least — most  comforting  conceit  of  your  own  courage  and 
perspicacity.  And  Henrietta  just  now  stood  in  need  of  a 
tonic.  She  had  been  strangely  overcome  by  the  force  of 
lier  own  emotion — an  accident  which  rarely  happened  to 
her  and  which  she  very  cordially  detested  when  it  did. 

"  Someone  must  have  omitted  to  post  the  letter,  then," 
she  said,  with  a  suitable  air  of  annoyance.  "  How  ex- 
ceedingly careless — unless  it  has  not  been  sent  over  from 
the  hotel  to  the  Pavilion.  I  have  been  obliged,  more  than 
once,  to  complain  of  the  hall  porter's  very  casual  delivery 
of  my  letters.  I  will  make  enquiries  directly,  if  I  don't 
find  it  on  my  return.  But  this  is  all  by  the  way.  Tell  me, 
dearest  child,  what  is  the  reason  of  Colonel  Carteret 's  leav- 
ing so  suddenly?  Is  it  not  surprisingly  unexpected?  " 

' '  He  was  wanted  at  home  on  business  of  some  sort, ' ' 
Damaris  replied,  as  she  felt  a  little  lamely.  She  was  dis- 
pleased, worried  by  Henrietta.  It  was  difficult  to  choose 
her  words.  "  He  has  been  away  for  a  long  time,  you  see. 


THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  FOREST     347 

I  think  he  has  been  beautifully  unselfish  in  giving  up  so 
much  of  his  time  to  us." 

"  Do  you!  "  Henrietta  enquired  with  meaning.  "  If  I 
remember  right  we  discussed  that  point  once  before.  I  can 
repeat  now  what  I  then  told  you,  with  even  firmer  as- 
surance, namely,  that  he  struck  me  as  remarkably  well 
pleased  with  himself  and  his  surroundings  and  generally 
content. ' ' 

"  Of  course  he  loves  being  with  my  father,"  Damaris 
hastened  to  put  in,  having  no  wish  to  enlarge  on  the  topic 
suggested  by  the  above  speech. 

"  Of  course.  Who  doesn't,  or  rather  who  wouldn't  were 
they  sufficiently  fortunate  to  have  the  chance.  But  come 
— to  be  honest — je  me  demande,  is  it  exclusively  Sir  Charles 
whom  Carteret  loves  to  be  with?  " 

And  as  she  spoke,  Henrietta  bent  forward  from  the  waist, 
her  dainty  lavender  skirts  spread  out  on  the  faded  blue 
of  the  sofa  mattress,  the  contours  of  her  dainty  lavender 
bodice  in  fine  relief  against  the  faded  blue  cushions,  her 
whole  person,  in  the  subdued  light,  bright  and  apparently 
fragile  as  some  delicate  toy  of  spun  glass.  She  put  out  her 
hand,  and  lightly,  mischievously,  touched  the  string  of 
pearls  encircling  the  girl's  throat. 

"  And  what  is  the  meaning  of  these,  then,"  she  asked, 
"  you  sweetly  deceiving  little  puss?  " 

It  was  cleverly  done,  she  flattered  herself.  She  asserted 
nothing,  implied  much,  putting  the  onus  of  admission  or 
denial  upon  Damaris.  The  answer  came  with  grave  and 
unhesitating  directness. 

' '  Colonel  Carteret  gave  them  to  me. ' ' 

"  So  I  imagined.  They  are  the  exquisite  fruit,  aren't 
they,  of  the  little  expedition  by  train  of  two  days  ago?  " 

Damaris'  temper  rose,  but  so  did  her  protective  instinct. 
For  that  journey  to  Marseilles,  connected  as  it  was  with 
the  dear  secret  of  Darcy  Faircloth,  did  not  admit  of  in- 
vestigation by  Henrietta. 

"  About  where  and  when  Colonel  Carteret  may  have  got 
them  for  me,  I  know  nothing,"  she  returned.  "  He  left 
them  to  be  given  to  me  last  night  after  he  went." 


348  DEADHAM  HARD 

She  unclasped  the  necklace. 

"  They  are  very  lovely  pearls,  aren't  they?  Pray  look 
at  them  if  you  care  to,  Henrietta,"  she  said. 

Thus  at  once  invited  and  repulsed — for  that  it  amounted 
to  a  repulse  she  could  not  but  acknowledge — Mrs.  Frayling 
advised  herself  a  temporary  retreat  might  be  advisable. 
She  therefore  discoursed  brightly  concerning  pearls  and 
suchlike  costly  frivolities.  Inwardly  covetousness  consumed 
her,  since  she  possessed  no  personal  ornament  of  even  ap- 
proximate value. 

The  conversation  drifted.  She  learned  the  fact  of  Miss 
Felicia's  projected  arrival,  and  deplored  her  own  approach- 
ing exile  the  less.  Only  once,  long  ago,  had  she  encountered 
Miss  Verity.  The  memory  afforded  her  no  satisfaction, 
for  that  lady's  peculiar  brand  of  good  breeding  and — as 
she  qualified  it — imbecility,  did  not  appeal  to  her  in  the 
least.  There  was  matter  of  thankfulness,  therefore,  she  had 
not  elected  to  join  Sir  Charles  and  Damaris  sooner.  She 
would  undoubtedly  have  proved  a  most  tiresome  and  im- 
peding element.  Unless — here  Henrietta's  mind  darted — 
unless  she  happened  to  take  a  fancy  to  Marshall.  Blame- 
less spinsters,  of  her  uncertain  age  and  of  many  enthusi- 
asms, did  not  infrequently  very  warmly  take  to  him — in 
plain  English,  fell  over  head  and  ears  in  love  with  him, 
poor  things,  though  without  knowing  it,  their  critical 
faculty  being  conspicuous  by  its  absence  where  their  own 
hearts  were  concerned. — By  the  way  that  was  an  idea! — 
Swiftly  Henrietta  reviewed  the  possibilities  it  suggested. 
— As  an  ally,  an  auxiliary,  Miss  Felicia  might  be  well 
worth  cultivation.  Would  it  not  be  diplomatic  to  let 
Marshall  stay  on  at  the  Hotel  de  la  Plage  by  himself  for  a 
week  or  so  ?  The  conquest  of  Miss  Felicia  might  facilitate 
another  conquest  on  which  her — Henrietta's — mind  was  set. 
For  such  mature  enamoured  virgins,  as  she  reflected,  are 
almost  ludicrously  selfless.  To  ensure  the  happiness  of  the 
beloved  object  they  will  even  donate  to  him  their  rival. — 
Yes — distinctly  an  idea !  But  before  attempting  to  reduce 
it  to  practice,  she  must  make  more  sure  of  her  ground  in 
another  direction. 


THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  FOREST     349 

During  the  above  meditation,  Henrietta  continued  to  talk 
off  the  surface,  her  mind  working  on  two  distinct  planes. 
Damaris,  off  the  surface,  continued  to  answer  her. 

Our  maiden  felt  tired  both  in  body  and  in  spirit.  She 
felt  all  "  rubbed  up  the  wrong  way  " — disturbed,  con- 
fused. The  many  moral  turns  and  twists  of  Henrietta's 
conversation  had  been  difficult  to  follow.  But  from  amid 
the  curious  maze  of  them,  one  thing  stood  out,  arrestingly 
conspicuous — Henrietta  believed  it  then  also.  Believed 
Carteret  cared  for  her  "  in  that  way  " — thus,  with  a  turn- 
ing aside  of  the  eyes  and  shrinking,  she  phrased  it.  It 
wasn't  any  mistaken,  conceited  imagination  of  her  own 
since  Henrietta  so  evidently  shared  it.  And  Henrietta 
must  be  reckoned  an  expert  in  that  line,  having  a  triad 
of  husbands  to  her  credit — a  liberality  of  allowance  in 
matrimony  which  had  always  appeared  to  Damaris  as 
slightly  excessive.  She  had  avoided  dwelling  upon  this  so 
outstanding  feature  of  her  friend's  career;  but  that  it  gave 
assurance  of  the  latter 's  ability  to  pronounce  upon  "  caring 
in  that  way  "  was  she  now  admitted  incontestable. 

Whether  she  really  felt  glad  or  sorry  Henrietta's  expert 
opinion  confirmed  her  own  suspicions,  Damaris  could  not 
tell.  It  certainly  tended  to  complicate  the  future ;  and  for 
that  she  was  sorry.  She  would  have  liked  to  see  the  road 
clear  before  her — anyhow  for  a  time — complications  having 
been  over  numerous  lately.  They  were  worrying.  They 
made  her  feel  unsettled,  unnatural.  In  any  ease  she  trusted 
she  shouldn't  suffer  again  from  those  odious  yet  alluring 
feelings  which  put  her  to  such  shame  this  morning. — But 
— unpleasant  thought — weren't  they,  perhaps,  an  integral 
part  of  the  whole  agitating  business  of  "  caring  in  that 
way?  " 

Her  eyes  rested  in  wide  meditative  enquiry  upon  Henri- 
etta, Henrietta  sitting  up  in  all  her  finished  elegance  upon 
the  faded  blue  sofa  and  so  diligently  making  company  con- 
versation. Somehow,  thus  viewing  her,  it  was  extremely 
difficult  to  suppose  Henrietta  had  ever  experienced  excited 
feelings.  Yet — the  wonder  of  it! — she'd  actually  been 
married  three  times. 


350  DEADHAM  HARD 

Then,  wearily,  Damaris  made  a  return  upon  herself. 
Yes — she  was  glad,  although  it  might  seem  ungrateful,  dis- 
loyal, the  man  with  the  blue  eyes  had  gone  away.  For  his 
going  put  off  the  necessity  of  knowing  her  own  mind,  ex- 
cused her  from  making  out  exactly  how  she  regarded  him, 
thus  relegating  the  day  of  fateful  decision  to  a  dim  dis- 
tance. Henrietta  accused  him  of  being  a  sieve. — Damaris 
grew  heated  in  strenuous  denial.  That  was  a  calumny 
which  she  didn't  and  wouldn't  credit.  Still  you  could 
never  be  quite  sure  about  men — so  she  went  back  on  the 
old,  sad,  disquieting  lesson.  Their  way  of  looking  at  things, 
their  angle  of  admitted  obligation  is  so  bewilderingly  dif- 
ferent!— Oh!  how  thankful  she  was  Aunt  Felicia  would 
soon  be  here.  Everything  would  grow  simpler,  easier  to 
understand  and  to  manage,  more  as  it  used  to  be,  with 
dear  Aunt  Felicia  here  on  the  spot. 

At  this  point  she  realized  that  Mrs.  Frayling  was  finish- 
ing a  sentence  to  the  beginning  of  which  she  had  not  paid 
the  smallest  attention.  That  was  disgracefully  rude. 

"  So  I  am  to  go  home  then,  dearest  child,  and  break  it  to 
Marshall  that  he  stands  no  chance — my  poor  Marshall,  who 
has  no  delightful  presents  with  which  to  plead  his  cause !  ' ' 

"  Mr.  Wace? — Plead  his  cause?  What  cause?  I  am  so 
sorry,  Henrietta — forgive  me.  It's  too  dreadful,  but  I  am 
afraid  I  wasn't  quite  listening  " — this  with  most  engaging 
confusion. 

"  Yes — his  cause.  I  should  have  supposed  his  state  of 
mind  had  been  transparently  evident  for  many  a  long 
day." 

"  But  indeed — Henrietta,  you  must  be  mistaken.  I  don't 
know  what  you  mean  " — the  other  interposed  smitten  by 
the  liveliest  distress  and  alarm. 

The  elder  lady  waved  aside  her  outcry  with  admirable 
playfulness  and  determination. 

"  Oh!  I  quite  realize  how  crazy  it  must  appear  on  his 
part,  poor  dear  fellow,  seeing  he  has  so  little  to  offer  from 
the  worldly  and  commercial  standpoint.  As  he  himself 
says — '  the  desire  of  the  moth  for  the  star,  of  the  night 
for  the  morrow.'  Still  money  and  position  are  not  every- 


THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  FOREST     351 

thing  in  life,  are  they?  Talent  is  an  asset  and  so,  I 
humbly  believe,  is  the  pure  devotion  of  a  good  man's  heart. 
These  count  for  something,  or  used  to  do  so  when  I  was 
your  age.  But  then  the  women  of  my  generation  were 
educated  in  a  less  sophisticated  school.  You  modern  young 
persons  are  wiser  than  we  were  no  doubt,  in  that  you  are 
less  romantic,  less  easily  touched. — I  have  not  ventured 
to  give  Marshall  much  encouragement.  It  would  have  been 
on  my  conscience  to  foster  hopes  which  might  be  dashed. 
And  yet  I  own,  darling  child,  your  manner  not  once  nor 
twice,  during  our  happy  meetings  at  the  Pavilion,  when 
he  read  aloud  to  us  or  sang,  gave  me  the  impression  you 
were  not  entirely  indifferent.  He,  I  know,  has  thought  so 
too — for  I  have  not  been  able  to  resist  letting  him  pour  out 
his  hopes  and  fears  to  me  now  and  then.  I  could  not  re- 
fuse either  him  or  myself  that  indulgence,  because  " 

Mrs.  Frayling  rose,  and,  bending  over  our  much  tried  and 
now  positively  flabbergasted  damsel,  brushed  her  hair  with 
a  butterfly  kiss. 

"  Because  my  own  hopes  were  also  not  a  little  engaged, " 
she  said.  "  Your  manner  to  my  poor  Marshall,  your  will- 
ingness to  let  him  so  often  be  with  you  made  me — perhaps 
foolishly — believe  not  only  that  his  sad  life  might  be 
crowned  by  a  signal  blessing,  but  you  might  be  given  to 
me  some  day  as  a  daughter  of  whom  I  could  be  intensely 
proud.  I  have  grown  to  look  upon  Marshall  in  the  light  of 
a  son,  and  his  wife  would  " 

Damaris  had  risen  also.  She  stood  at  bay,  white,  strained, 
her  lips  quivering. 

"  Do — do  you  mean  that  I  have  behaved  badly  to  Mr. 
Wace,  Henrietta?  That  I  have  flirted  with  him?  " 

Mrs.  Frayling  drew  her  mouth  into  a  naughty  little  knot. 
There  were  awkward  corners  to  be  negotiated  in  these 
questions.  She  avoided  them  by  boldly  striking  for  the 
open. 

"Oh!  it  is  natural,  perfectly  natural  at  your  rather 
thoughtless  time  of  life.  Only  Marshall's  admiration  for 
you  is  very  deep.  He  has  the  poetic  temperament  which 
makes  for  suffering,  for  despair  as  well  as  for  rapture. 


352  DEADHAM  HARD 

And  his  disillusionments,  poor  boy,  have  been  so  grievously 
many. — But  Colonel  Carteret — yes — dearest  child,  I  do 
quite  follow. — It's  an  old  story.  He  has  always  had  des 
bonnes  fortunes." 

Since  her  return  to  Europe,  Mrs.  Frayling  had  become 
much  addicted  to  embellishing  her  conversation  with  such 
foreign  tags,  not  invariably,  it  may  be  added,  quite  cor- 
rectly applied  or  quoted. 

' '  Women  could  never  resist  him  in  former  days  in  India. 
They  went  down  before  his  charms  like  a  row  of  ninepins 
before  a  ball.  I  don't  deny  a  passing  tendresse  for  him 
myself,  though  I  was  married  and  very  happily  married. 
So  I  can  well  comprehend  how  he  may  take  a  girl's  fancy 
by  storm.  Sans  peur  et  sans  reproche,  he  must  seem  to 
her. — And  so  in  the  main,  I  dare  say,  he  is.  At  worst  a 
little  easy-going,  owing  to  his  cultivation  of  the  universally 
benevolent  attitude.  Charity  has  a  habit  of  beginning  at 
home,  you  know;  and  a  man  usually  views  his  own  de- 
linquencies at  least  as  leniently  as  he  views  those  of  others. 
But  that  leniency  is  part  of  his  charm — which  I  admit  is 
great. — Heaven  forbid,  I  should  undermine  your  faith  in 
it,  if  there  is  anything  settled  between  you  and  him." 

"  But  there  isn't,  there  isn't,"  Damaris  broke  in,  dis- 
tressed beyond  all  calmness  of  demeanour.  "  You  go  too 
fast,  Henrietta.  You  assume  too  much.  Nothing  is  settled 
of — of  that  sort.  Nothing  of  that  sort  has  ever  been  said. ' ' 

Mrs.  Frayling  raised  her  eyebrows,  cast  down  her  eyes, 
and  fingered  the  bunch  of  trinkets  hanging  from  her  gold 
chain  in  silence  for  a  few  seconds.  The  ring  of  sincerity 
was  unquestionable — only  where  did  that  land  her?  Had 
not  she,  in  point  of  fact,  very  really  gone  too  fast?  In 
defeat  Henrietta  became  unscrupulous. 

"  Merely  another  flirtation,  Damaris?  "  she  said. 
"  Darling  child,  I  am  just  a  wee  bit  disappointed  in  you." 

Which,  among  her  many  fibs,  may  rank  amongst  her 
most  impudent  and  full-fed,  though  by  no  means  her  last. 

Here,  the  door  opened  behind  her.  Henrietta  turned 
alertly,  hailing  any  interruption  which — her  bolt  being  shot 
— might  facilitate  her  retreat  from  a  now  most  embarrass- 


THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  FOREST     353 

ing  situation.  After  all  she  had  planted  more  than  one 
seed,  which  might  fruitfully  grow,  so  at  that  she  could 
leave  matters. — The  interruption,  however,  took  a  form  for 
Avliich  she  was  unprepared.  To  her  intense  disgust  her 
nerves  played  her  false.  She  gave  the  oddest  little  stifled 
squeak  as  she  met  Charles  Verity's  glance,  fixed  upon  her 
in  cool,  slightly  ironic  scrutiny. 

Some  persons  very  sensibly  bring  their  mental  atmosphere 
along  with  them.  You  are  compelled  to  breathe  it  whether 
you  like  or  not.  The  atmosphere  Charles  Verity  brought 
with  him,  at  this  juncture,  was  too  masculine,  intellectually 
too  abstract  yet  too  keenly  critical,  for  comfortable  absorp- 
tion by  Henrietta 's  lungs.  Her  self -complacency  shrivelled 
in  it.  She  felt  but  a  mean  and  pitiful  creature,  especially 
in  her  recent  treatment  of  Damaris.  It  was  a  nasty  mo- 
ment, the  more  difficult  to  surmount  because  of  that 
wretchedly  betraying  squeak.  Fury  against  herself  gin- 
gered her  up  to  action.  She  must  be  the  first  to  speak. 

' '  Ah !  how  delightful  to  see  you, ' '  she  said,  a  little  over- 
playing the  part — "  though  only  for  an  instant.  I  was  in 
the  act  of  bidding  Damaris  farewell.  As  it  is  I  have 
scandalously  outstayed  my  leave;  but  we  had  a  thousand 
and  one  things,  hadn't  we,  to  say  to  one  another." 

She  smiled  upon  both  father  and  daughter  with  graceful 
deprecation. 

"  Au  revoir,  darling  child — we  must  manage  to  meet 
somehow,  just  once  more  before  I  take  my  family 
north  " 

And  still  talking,  new  lavender  dress,  trinkets,  faint 
fragance  and  all,  she  passed  out  on  to  the  corridor  accom- 
panied by  Sir  Charles  Verity. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

WHICH  RECOUNTS  A  TAKING  OF  SANCTUARY 

EFT  alone  Damaris  sat  down  on  the  window-seat, 
within  the  shelter  of  the  wooden  shutters  which 
interposed  a  green  barred  coolness  between  her  and 
the  brilliant  world  without.  That  those  two,  her  father  and 
Henrietta  Frayling,  should  thus  step  off  together,  the  small, 
softly  crisp,  feminine  figure  beside  the  tall,  fine-drawn  and 
— in  a  way — magnificent  masculine  one,  troubled  her.  Yet 
she  made  no  attempt  to  accompany  or  to  follow  them.  Her 
head  ached.  Her  mind  and  soul  ached  too.  She  felt  spent 
and  giddy,  as  from  chasing  round  and  round  in  an  ever- 
shifting  circle  some  tormenting,  cleverly  lovely  thing  which 
perpetually  eluded  her.  Which  thing,  finally,  floated  out 
of  the  door  there,  drawing  a  personage  unmeasurably  its 
superior,  away  with  it,  and  leaving  her — Damaris — 
deserted. 

Leaving,  moreover,  every  subject  on  which  its  nimble 
tongue  had  lighted,  damaged  by  that  contact — at  loose 
ends,  frayed  and  ravelled,  its  inwove  pattern  just  slightly 
discoloured  and  defaced.  The  patterned  fabric  of  Damaris ' 
thought  and  inner  life  had  not  been  spared,  but  suffered 
disfigurement  along  with  the  rest.  She  felt  humiliated,  felt 
unworthy.  The  ingenious  torments  of  a  false  conscience 
gnawed  her.  Her  better  judgment  pronounced  that  con- 
science veritably  false;  or  would,  as  she  believed,  so  pro- 
nounce later  when  she  had  time  to  get  a  true  perspective. 
But,  just  now,  she  could  only  lamentably,  childishly,  cry 
out  against  injustice.  For  wasn't  Henrietta  mainly  re- 
sponsible for  the  character  of  her  intercourse  with  Marshall 
Wace?  Hadn't  Henrietta  repeatedly  entreated  her  to  see 
much  of  him,  be  kind  to  him? — Wishing,  even  in  her 

354 


THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  FOREST     355 

present  rebellion  to  be  quite  fair,  she  acknowledged  that  she 
had  enjoyed  his  singing  and  reading;  that  she  had  felt 
pleased  at  his  eagerness  to  confide  his  troubles  to  her  and 
talk  confidentially  about  himself.  She  not  unwillingly 
accepted  a  mission  towards  him,  stimulated  thereto  by 
Henrietta's  plaudits  and  thanks. 

And — and  Colonel  Carteret?  For  now  somehow  she  no 
longer,  even  in  thought,  could  call  him  by  her  old  name 
for  him,  "  the  dear  man  with  the  blue  eyes." — Could  it 
be  true,  as  Henrietta  intimated,  that  he  went  through  life 
throwing  the  handkerchief  first  to  one  woman  and  then  to 
another?  That  there  was  no  real  constancy  or  security 
ia  his  affections,  but  all  was  lightly  come  and  lightly  go 
with  him? 

How  her  poor  head  ached!  She  held  it  in  both  hands 
and  closed  her  eyes. — She  would  not  think  any  more  about 
Colonel  Carteret.  To  do  so  made  her  temples  throb  and 
raised  the  lump,  which  is  a  precursor  of  tears,  in  her 
throat. 

No— she  couldn't  follow  Henrietta's  statements  and  argu- 
ments either  way.  They  were  self-contradictory.  Still, 
whose  ever  the  fault,  that  the  young  man  Wace  should  be 
unhappy  on  her  account,  should  think  she — Damaris — had 
behaved  heartlessly  to  him,  was  quite  dreadful.  Humiliat- 
ing too — false  conscience  again  gnawing.  Had  she  really 
contracted  a  debt  towards  him,  which  she — in  his  opinion 
and  Henrietta's — tried  to  repudiate?  She  seemed  to  hear 
it,  the  rich  impassioned  voice,  and  hear  it  with  a  new 
comprehension.  Was  "  caring  in  that  way  "  what  it  had 
striven  to  tell  her;  and  had  she,  incomparably  dense  in 
missing  its  meaning,  appeared  to  sanction  the  message  and 
to  draw  him  on?  Other  people  understood — so  at  least 
Henrietta  implied;  while  she,  remaining  deaf,  had  rather 
cruelly  misled  him.  Ought  she  not  to  do  something  to 
make  up  ?  Yet  what  could  she  do  ? — It  had  never  occurred 
to  her  that — that 

She  held  her  head  tight.  Held  it  on,  as  with  piteous 
humour  she  told  herself,  since  she  seemed  in  high  danger 
of  altogether  losing  it. — Must  she  believe  herself  inordi- 


356  DEADHAM  HARD 

nately  stupid,  or  was  she  made  differently  to  everybody 
else?  For,  as  she  now  suspected,  most  people  are  con- 
stantly occupied,  are  quite  immensely  busy  about  "  caring 
in  that  way."  And  she  shrank  from  it;  actively  and 
angrily  disliked  it.  She  felt  smirched,  felt  all  dealings  as 
between  men  and  women  made  suspect,  rendered  ugly, 
almost  degraded  by  the  fact — if  fact  it  was — of  that  kind 
of  caring  and  excited  feelings  it  induces,  lurking  just 
below  the  surface,  ready  to  dart  out. — And  this  not  quite 
honestly  either.  The  whole  matter  savoured  of  hypocrisy, 
since  the  feelings  disguised  themselves  in  beautiful  sounds, 
beautiful  words,  clothing  their  unseemliness  with  the  noble 
panoply  of  poetry  and  art,  masquerading  in  wholesome 
garments  of  innocent  good-comradeship. 

— A  grind  of  wheels  on  the  gravel  below.  Henrietta's 
neat  limpid  accents  and  Charles  Verity's  grave  ones.  The 
flourish  and  crack  of  a  whip  and  scrambling  start  of  the 
little  chestnut  horses.  The  rhythmical  beat  of  their  quick 
even  trot  and  thin  tinkle  of  their  collar  bells  receding  into 
the  distance. 

These  sounds  to  our  sorrowfully  perplexed  maiden  opened 
fresh  fields  of  uneasy  speculation.  For  those  diverse  ac- 
cents— the  speakers  being  unseen — heard  thus  in  conjunc- 
tion, seized  on  and  laboured  her  imagination.  Throughout 
the  past  months  of  frequent  meeting,  Damaris  had  never 
quite  understood  her  father's  attitude  towards  Henrietta 
Frayling.  It  was  marked  by  reserve ;  yet  a  reserve  based, 
as  she  somehow  divined,  upon  an  uncommon  degree  of 
former  intimacy.  Judging  from  remarks  let  drop  now  and 
again  by  Henrietta,  they  knew,  or  rather  had  known,  one 
another  very  well  indeed.  This  bore  out  Damaris'  own 
childhood's  recollections;  though  in  these  last  she  was 
aware  of  lacunae,  of  gaps,  of  spaces  unbridged  by  any 
coherent  sequence  of  remembered  events.  A  dazzling  and 
delicious  image,  the  idol  of  her  baby  adoration — thus  did 
memory  paint  that  earlier  Henrietta.  Surrounding  cir- 
cumstances remained  shadowy.  She  could  not  recall  them 
even  in  respect  of  herself,  still  less  in  respect  of  her  father. 
So  that  question,  as  to  the  past,  ruled  the  present.  What 


THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  FOREST     357 

had  parted  them,  and  how  did  they  to-day  envisage  one 
another?  She  could  not  make  out.  Had  never,  indeed, 
attempted  seriously  to  make  out,  shying  from  such  investiga- 
tion as  disloyal  and,  in  a  way,  irreverent.  Now  investiga- 
tion was  forced  on  her.  Her  mind  worked  independent 
of  her  will,  so  that  she  could  neither  prevent  or  arrest  it. 
Sir  Charles  showed  himself  scrupulously  attentive  and 
courteous  to  General  Frayling.  He  offered  no  spoken  ob- 
jection" to  her  association  with  Henrietta.  Yet  an  unex- 
plained element  did  remain.  Subtlely,  but  perceptibly,  it 
permeated  both  her  father's  and  Henrietta's  speech  and 
bearing.  She,  Damaris,  was  always  conscious  of  a  certain 
constraint  beneath  their  calm  and  apparently  easy  talk. 
Was  their  relation  one  of  friendship  or  of  covert  enmity? 
— Or  did  these,  just  perceptible,  peculiarities  of  it  betoken 
something  deeper  and  closer  still? 

Suspicion  once  kindled  spreads  like  a  conflagration. — 
Damaris'  hands  dropped,  a  dead  weight,  into  her  lap.  She 
sat,  strained  yet  inert,  as  though  listening  to  catch  the 
inner  significance  of  her  own  unfonnulated  question,  her 
eyes  wide  and  troubled,  her  lips  apart.  For  might  it  not 
be  that  they  had  once — long  ago — in  the  princely,  Eastern 
pleasure  palace  of  her  childhood — cared  in  that  way? 

Then  the  tears  which,  what  with  tiredness  and  the  labour 
pains  of  her  many  conflicting  emotions,  had  threatened 
more  than  once  to-day,  came  into  their  own.  She  wept 
quietly,  noiselessly,  the  tears  running  down  her  cheeks 
unchecked  and  unheeded.  For  there  was  no  escape.  Turn 
where  she  would,  join  hands  with  whom  she  would  in  all 
good  faith  and  innocence,  this  thing  reared  its  head  and, 
evilly  alluring  looked  at  her.  Now  it  set  its  claim  upon 
her  well-beloved  Sultan-i-bagh — and  what  scene  could  in 
truth  be  more  sympathetic  to  its  display?  She  felt  the 
breath  of  high  romance.  Imagination  played  strange  tricks 
with  her.  She  could  feel,  she  could  picture,  a  drama  of 
rare  quality  with  those  two  figures  as  protagonists.  It 
dazzled  while  wounding  her.  She  remembered  Faircloth's 
words,  spoken  on  that  evening  of  fateful  disclosure  when 
knowledge  of  things  as  they  are  first  raped  her  happy 


358  DEADHAM  HARD 

ignorance,  while  the  boat  drifted  through  the  shrouding 
darkness  of  rain  upon  the  inky  waters  of  the  tide-river. 
— "  They  were  young,"  he  had  said,  "  and  mayn't  we 
allow  they  were  beautiful  ?  They  met  and,  God  help  them, 
they  loved." 

The  statement  covered  this  case,  also,  to  a  nicety.  It 
explained  everything.  But  what  an  explanation,  leaving 
her,  Damaris,  doubly  orphaned  and  desolate!  For  the 
first  case,  that  of  which  Faircloth  actually  had  spoken, 
brought  her  royal,  if  secret  compensation  in  the  brother- 
hood and  sisterhood  it  made  known.  But  this  second 
case  brought  nothing,  save  a  sense  of  being  tricked  and 
defrauded,  the  victim  of  a  conspiracy  of  silence.  For 
nothing,  as  it  now  appeared,  was  really  her  own,  nor  had 
really  belonged  to  her.  "  Some  one,"  so  she  phrased  it  in 
the  incoherence  of  her  pain,  "  had  always  been  there  be- 
fore her."  What  she  supposed  her  exclusive  property  was 
only  second-hand,  had  been  already  owned  by  others.  They 
let  her  play  at  being  first  in  the  field,  original  and  sole 
proprietress,  because  it  saved  them  trouble  by  keeping  her 
quiet  and  amused.  But  all  the  while  they  knew  better  and 
must  have  smiled  at  her  possessive  antics  once  her  silly 
back  was  turned.  And  here  Damaris  lost  sight  of  reason- 
able proportion  and  measure,  exaggerating  wildly,  her 
pride  and  self-respect  cut  to  the  quick. 

It  was  thus,  in  the  full  flood  of  mystification  and  resent- 
ment, Charles  Verity  found  her  when  presently  he  re- 
turned. Sensible  of  something  very  much  amiss,  since  she 
stayed  within  the  shadow  of  the  closed  shutters,  silent 
and  motionless,  he  crossed  the  room  and  stood  before  her 
looking  down  searchingly  into  her  upturned  face.  Stub- 
born in  her  misery,  she  met  his  glance  with  mutinous,  and 
hard,  if  misty,  eyes. 

"  Weeping,  my  dear?  Is  the  occasion  worth  it?  Has 
Mrs.  Frayling  then  taken  so  profound  a  hold?  "  he  asked, 
his  tone  mocking,  chiding  her  yet  very  gently. 

Damaris  hedged.  To  expose  the  root  of  her  trouble  be- 
came impossible  under  the  coercion  of  that  gently  banter- 
ing tone. 


THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  FOREST     359 

"  It's  not  Henrietta's  going;  but  that  I  no  longer  mind 
her  going." 

"  A  lost  illusion — yes?  "  he  said. 

"  I  can't  trust  her.     She — she  isn't  kind." 

"  Eh?  "  he  said.  "  So  you  too  have  made  that  illumin- 
ating little  discovery.  I  supposed  it  would  be  only  a 
matter  of  time.  But  you  read  character,  my  dear,  more 
quickly  than  I  do.  What  it  has  taken  you  months  to  dis- 
cover, took  me  years." 

His  frankness,  the  unqualified  directness  of  his  response, 
though  startling,  stimulated  her  daring. 

"  Then — then  you  don't  really  like  Henrietta?  "  she 
found  audacity  enough  to  say. 

* '  Ah !  there  you  rush  too  headlong  to  conclusions, ' '  he 
reasoned,  still  with  that  same  frankness  of  tone.  "  She  is 
an  ingenious,  unique  creature,  towards  whom  one's 
sentiments  are  ingenious  and  unique  in  their  turn.  I  ad- 
mire her,  although — for  you  are  right  there — she  is  neither 
invariably  trustworthy  nor  invariably  kind.  Admire  her 
ungrudgingly,  now  I  no  longer  ask  of  her  what  she  hasn't 
it  in  her  to  give.  Limit  your  demand  and  you  limit  the 
risks  of  disappointment — a  piece  of  wisdom  easier  to  enun- 
ciate than  to  apply." 

Lean,  graceful,  commanding  under  the  cloak  of  his 
present  gentle  humour,  Charles  Verity  sat  down  on  the 
faded  red  cushion  beside  Damaris,  and  laid  one  arm  along 
the  window-ledge  behind  her.  He  did  not  touch  her; 
being  careful  in  the  matter  of  caresses,  reverent  of  her 
person,  chary  of  claiming  parental  privileges  unasked. 

"  In  the  making  of  Henrietta  Frayling,"  he  went  on, 
t(  by  some  accident  soul  was  left  out.  She  hasn't  any. 
She  does  not  know  it.  Let  us  hope  she  never  will  know  it, 
for  it  is  too  late  now  for  the  omission  to  be  rectified." 

"  Are  you  laughing  at  me?  "  Damaris  asked,  still  stub- 
born, though  his  presence  enclosed  her  with  an  at  once 
assuaging  and  authoritative  charm. 

' '  Not  in  the  least.  I  speak  that  which  I  soberly  believe. 
Just  as  some  ill-starred  human  creatures  are  born  physically 
or  mentally  defective — deformed  or  idiots — so  may  they 


360  DEADHAM  HARD 

be  born  spiritually  defective.  Why  not  ?  My  reason  offers 
no  scientific  or  moral  objection  to  such  a  belief.  In  other 
respects  she  is  conspicuously  perfect.  But,  verily,  she  has 
no  soul ;  and  the  qualities  which — for  happiness  or  misery 
— draw  their  life  from  the  soul,  she  does  not  possess. 
Therefore  she  sparkles,  lovely  and  chill  as  frost.  Is  as 
astute  as  she  is  cold  at  heart;  and  can,  when  it  suits  her 
purpose,  be  both  false  and  cruel  without  any  subsequent 
prickings  of  remorse.  But  this  very  coldness  and  astute- 
ness save  her  from  misdeeds  of  the  coarser  kind.  Treacher- 
ous she  has  been,  and,  for  aught  I  know,  may  on  occasions 
still  be.  But,  though  temptation  has  pretty  freely  crossed 
her  path,  she  has  never  been  other  than  virtuous.  She 
is  a  good  woman — in  the  accepted,  the  popular  sense  of 
the  word." 

Silence  stole  down  upon  the  room.  Damaris  remained 
motionless,  leaning  forward  gathered  close  into  herself, 
her  hands  still  heavy  in  her  lap.  Could  she  accept  this 
statement  as  comfort,  or  must  she  bow  under  it  as  re- 
buke? 

' '  Why, ' '  she  asked  at  last  huskily — the  tears  were  no 
longer  upon  her  cheeks  but  queerly  in  her  throat,  impeding 
utterance,  "  do  you  tell  me  these  things?  " 

"  To  prevent  you  beholding  lying  visions,  my  dear,  or 
dreaming  lying  dreams  of  what  might  very  well  have  been 
but — God  be  thanked — never  has  been — never  was. — Think 
a  minute — remember — look. ' ' 

And  once  more  Damaris  felt  the  breath  of  high  romance 
and  touched  drama  of  rare  quality,  with  those  same  two 
figures  as  protagonists,  and  that  same  Indian  pleasure 
palace  as  their  stage ;  but  this  time  with  a  notable  difference 
of  sentiment  and  of  result. 

For  she  visualized  another  going  of  Henrietta,  a  flight 
before  the  dawn.  Saw,  through  a  thick  scent-drenched  at- 
mosphere, between  the  expiring  lamplight  and  broadening 
day,  a  deserted  child  beating  its  little  hands,  in  the  ex- 
tremity of  its  impotent  anguish,  upon  the  pillows  of  a 
disordered  unmade  bed.  Saw  a  man,  too,  worn  and  travel- 
stained  from  long  riding  throughout  the  night,  lost  to  all 


THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  FOREST      361 

decent  dignities  of  self-control,  savage  with  the  animalism 
of  frustrated  passion,  rage  to  and  fro  amidst  the  litter 
of  a  smart  woman's  hurried  packing,  a  trail  of  pale  blue 
ribbon  plucking  at  and  tripping  him  entangled  in  the 
rowels  of  his  spurs. 

All  this  she  saw;  and  knew  that  her  father — sitting  on 
the  cushioned  window-seat  beside  her,  his  legs  crossed,  his 
chin  sunk  on  his  breast — saw  it  also.  That  he,  indeed, 
voluntarily  and  of  set  purpose  made  her  see,  transferring 
the  living  picture  from  his  consciousness  to  her  own.  And, 
as  she  watched,  each  detail  growing  in  poignancy  and 
significance  she — not  all  at  once,  but  gropingly,  rebelliously 
and  only  by  degress — comprehended  that  purpose,  and  the 
abounding  love,  both  of  herself  and  of  justice,  which  dic- 
tated it.  Divining  the  root  of  her  trouble  and  the  nature 
of  her  suspicion  he  took  this  strange  means  to  dissipate 
them.  Setting  aside  his  natural  pride,  he  caused  her  to 
look  upon  his  hour  of  defeat  and  debasement,  careless  of 
himself  if  thereby  he  might  mend  her  hurt  and  win  her 
peace  of  mind. 

Damaris  was  conquered.  Her  stubbornness  went  down 
before  his  sacrifice.  All  the  generosity  in  her  leapt  forth 
to  meet  and  to  acclaim  the  signal  generosity  in  him — a 
generosity  extended  not  only  towards  herself  but  to  Henri- 
etta Frayling  as  well.  This  last  Damaris  recognized  as 
superb. — He  bade  her  remember.  And,  seeing  in  part 
through  her  own  eyes,  in  part  through  his,  she  penetrated 
more  deeply  into  his  mind,  into  the  rich  diversity  and,  now 
mastered,  violence  of  his  character,  than  could  otherwise 
have  been  possible.  She  learnt  him  from  within  as  well 
as  from  without.  He  had  been  terrible — so  she  remembered 
— yet  beautiful  in  his  fallen  godhead.  She  had  greatly  feared 
him  under  that  aspect.  Later,  she  more  than  ever  loved 
him;  and  that  with  a  provenant,  protective  and,  baby 
though  she  was,  a  mothering  love.  He  was  beautiful  now ; 
but  no  longer  terrible,  no  longer  fallen — if  not  the  god- 
head, yet  the  fine  flower  of  his  manhood  royally  and  very 
sweetly  disclosed.  Her  whole  being  yearned  towards  him ; 
but  humbly,  a  note  of  lowliness  in  her  appreciation,  as 


362  DEADHAM  HARD 

towards  something  exalted,  far  above  her  in  experience,  in 
self-knowledge  and  self-discipline. 

She  was,  indeed,  somewhat  overwhelmed,  both  by  reali- 
zation of  his  distinction  and  of  her  own  presumption  in 
judging  him,  to  the  point  of  being  unable  as  yet  to  look 
him  in  the  face.  So  she  silently  laid  hold  of  his  hand, 
drew  it  down  from  the  window-ledge  and  round  her  waist. 
Slipping  along  the  cushioned  seat  until  she  rested  against 
him,  she  laid  her  head  back  upon  his  shoulder.  Testimony 
in  words  teemed  superfluous  after  that  shared  conscious- 
nets,  teemed  impertinent  even,  an  anticlimax  from  which 
both  taste  and  insight  recoiled. 

For  a  while  Charles  Verity  let  the  silent  communion  con- 
tinue. Then,  lest  it  should  grow  enervating,  to  either  or  to 
both,  he  spoke  of  ordinary  subjects — of  poor  little  General 
Frayling's  illness,  of  Miss  Felicia's  plans,  of  his  own  book. 
It  wat  wiser  for  her,  better  also  for  himself,  to  step  back 
into  the  normal  thus  quietly  closing  the  door  upon  their 
dual  aet  of  retrospective  clairvoyance. 

Damans,  catching  his  intention,  responded ;  and  if  rather 
languidly  yet  loyally  played  up.  But,  before  the  spell  was 
wholly  broken  and  frankness  gave  place  to  their  habitual 
reserve,  there  was  one  further  question  she  must  ask  if  the 
gjsmiiip  of  that  false  conscience,  begotten  in  her  by  Henri- 
etta 's  strictures,  were  wholly  to  cease. 

"  Do  yon  mind  if  we  go  back  just  a  little  minute,"  she 
said. 

"  Still  unsatisfied,  my  dear!  " 

"  Not  unsatisfied— never  again  that  as  between  us  two, 
Commitnoner  Sahib,  Yon  have  made  everything  beauti- 
fully, everlastingly  smooth  and  clear." 

"  Then  why  tempt  Providence,  or  rather  human  in- 
certitude, by  going  back?  " 

"  Because — can  I  tay  it  quite  plainly  t  " 

"  At  plainly  at  you  will." 

"  Because  Henrietta  tells  me  I  have — have  flirted 
— hare  played  fast  and  loose  with — with  more  than  one 
person." 

A  pause,  and  the  question  came  from  above  her — her 


THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  FOREST     863 

head  still  lying  against  his  breast — with  a  trace  of  severity, 
or  was  it  anxiety  t 

"  And  have  you?  " 

"  Not  intentionally — not  knowingly,"  Damaris  said. 

"If  that  is  so,  is  it  not  sufficient?  " 

' '  No — because  she  implies  that  I  have  raised  false  hopes, 
and  so  entangled  myself — and  that  I  ought  to  go  further, 
that,  as  I  understand  her,  I  ought  to  be  ready  to  marry — 
that  it  is  not  quite  honourable  to  withdraw." 

Charles  Verity  moved  slightly,  yet  held  her  close.  She 
felt  the  rise  and  fall  of  his  ribs  as  he  breathed  slow  and 
deep. 

' '  Do  you  want  to  marry  ?  "  he  at  last  asked  hor. 

"  No,"  she  said,  simply.  "I'd  much  rather  not,  if  I 
can  keep  out  of  it  without  acting  unfairly  by  anyone — if 
you  don't  agree  with  Henrietta,  and  don't  think  I  need. 
You  don't  want  me  to  marry  do  you?  " 

4 '  God  in  heaven,  no, ' '  Charles  Verity  answered.  He  put 
her  from  him,  rose  and  moved  about  the  room. 

"  To  me,  the  thought  of  giving  you  in  marriage  to  any 
man  is  little  short  of  abhorrent,"  he  said  hoarsely. 

For  fear  clutched  him  by  the  throat.  The  gift  of  pearls, 
the  little  scene  of  last  night,  and  Damaris'  emotion  in  bid- 
ding  Carteret  farewell,  confronted  him.  The  idea  had 
never  occurred  to  him  before.  Now  it  glared  at  him,  or 
rather  he  glared  at  it.  It  would  be  torment  to  say  "  yes  " ; 
and  yet  very  difficult  to  say  his  best  friend  "  nay."  Anger 
kindled  against  Henrietta  Frayling.  Must  this  be  regarded 
as  her  handiwork  ?  Yet  he  could  hardly  credit  it.  Or  had 
she  some  other  candidate — Peregrine  Ditton,  young  Harry 
Ellice? — But  they  were  mere  boys. — Of  Marshall  Wace  he 
never  thought,  the  young  man  being  altogether  outside  his 
field  of  vision  in  this  connection. 

Long  habit  of  personal  chastity  made  Charles  Verity 
turn,  with  a  greater  stabbing  and  rending  of  repulsion, 
from  the  thought  of  marriage  for  Damaris.  She  asserted 
she  had  no  wish  to  marry,  that  she — bless  her  sweet  sim- 
plicity!— would  rather  not.  But  this  bare  broaching  of  the 
subject  threw  him  into  so  strange  a  tumult  that,  only  too 


364  DEADHAM  HARD 

evidently,  he  was  no  competent  observer,  he  laboured  under 
too  violent  a  prejudice.  He  had  no  right  to  demand  from 
others  the  abstinence  he  chose  himself  to  practise. 
Carteret,  in  desiring  her,  was  within  his  rights.  Damaris 
within  hers,  were  she  moved  by  his  suit.  Marriage  is 
natural,  wholesome,  the  God-ordained  law  and  sanction  of 
human  increase  since  man  first  drew  breath  here  upon 
earth.  To  condemn  obedience  to  that  law,  by  placing 
any  parental  embargo  upon  Damaris'  marriage,  would  be 
both  a  defiance  of  nature  and  act  of  grossest  selfishness. 

He  sat  down  on  the  window-seat  again ;  and  forced  him- 
self to  put  his  arm  around  that  fair  maiden  body,  destined 
to  be  the  prize,  one  day,  of  some  man 's  love ;  the  prey — for 
he  disdained  to  mince  matters,  turning  the  knife  in  the 
wound  rather — the  prey  of  some  man's  lust.  He  schooled 
himself,  while  Damaris'  heart  beat  a  little  tempestuously 
under  his  hand,  to  invite  a  conclusion  which  through  every 
nerve  and  fibre  he  loathed. 

' '  My  dear, ' '  he  said, ' '  I  spoke  unadvisedly  with  my  lips 
just  now,  letting  crude  male  jealousy  get  the  mastery  of 
reason  and  common  sense.  Put  my  words  out  of  your  mind. 
They  were  unjustifiable,  spoken  in  foolish  heat.  If  you  are 
in  love  with  anyone  " 

Damaris  nestled  against  him. 

"  Only  with  you,  dearest,  I  think,"  she  said. 

Charles  Verity  hesitated,  unable  to  speak  through  the 
exquisite  blow  she  delivered  and  his  swift  thankfulness. 

"  Let  us  put  the  question  differently  then — translating 
it  into  the  language  of  ordinary  social  convention.  Tell 
me,  has  anyone  proposed  to  you?  " 

Damaris,  still  nestling,  shook  her  head. 

"  No — no  one.  And  I  hope  now,  no  one  will.  I  escaped 
that,  partly  thanks  to  my  own  denseness. — It  is  not  an 
easy  thing,  Commissioner  Sahib,  to  explain  or  talk  about. 
But  I  have  come  rather  close  to  it  lately,  and  " — with  a 
hint  of  vehemence — "  I  don't  like  it.  There  is  something 
in  it  which  pulls  at  me  but  not  at  the  best  part  of  me. 
So  that  I  am  divided  against  myself.  Though  it  does 
pull,  I  still  want  to  push  it  all  away  with  both  hands. 


THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  FOREST     365 

I  don't  understand  myself  and  I  don't  understand  it.  I 
would  rather  be  without  it — forget  it — if  you  think  I  am 
free  to  do  so,  if  you  are  satisfied  that  I  haven't  intention- 
ally hurt  anyone  or  contracted  a — a  kind  of  debt  of 
honour?  " 

' '  I  am  altogether  satisfied, ' '  he  said.  ' '  Until  the  strange 
and  ancient  malady  attacks  you  in  a  very  much  more  viru- 
lent form,  you  are  free  to  cast  Henrietta  Frayling's  insinu- 
ations to  the  winds,  to  ignore  them  and  their  existence." 


BOOK  IV 

THROUGH  SHADOWS  TOWARDS 
THE  DAWN 


CHAPTER  I 

WHICH    CARRIES    OVER    A    TALE    OP    TEARS,    AND    CARRIES    ON 

THE  last  sentence  was  written.      His  work  finished. 
And,  looking  upon  his  completed  creation,  Charles 
Verity  saw  that  it  was  good.    Yet,  as  he  put  the  pen 
back  in  the  pen-tray  and,  laying  the  last  page  of  manu- 
script face  downwards  upon  the  blotting-paper  passed  his 
hand  over  it,  he  was  less  sensible  of  exultation  than  of  a 
pathetic  emptiness.    The  book  had  come  to  be  so  much  part 
of  him  that  he  felt  a  nasty  wrench  when  he  thus  finally 
rid  himself  of  it. 

He  had  kept  the  personal  pronoun  out  of  it,  strictly  and 
austerely,  desiring  neither  self-glorification  nor  self-ad- 
vertisement. Yet  his  mind  and  attitude  towards  life 
seasoned  and  tempered  the  whole,  giving  it  vitality  and 
force.  This  was  neither  a  "  drum-and-trumpet  history  " 
designed  to  tickle  the  vulgar  ear,  nor  a  blank  four-wall 
depository  of  dry  facts,  names,  dates,  statistics,  such  as 
pedants  mustily  adore;  but  a  living  thing,  seen  and  felt. 
Not  his  subconscious,  but  that  much  finer  and — as  one 
trusts — more  permanent  element  in  our  human  constitu- 
tion, his  super-conscious  self  found  expression  in  its  pages 
and  travelled  freely,  fruitfully,  through  them  amid  lumi- 
nous and  masterful  ideas.  At  times  the  intellectual  sweep 
threatened  to  be  overdaring  and  overwide;  so  that,  in  the 
interests  of  symmetry  and  balance  of  construction,  he  had 
been  forced  to  clip  the  wings  of  thought,  lest  they  should 
bear  him  to  regions  too  remotely  high  and  rare.  Race, 
religion,  customs  and  the  modifications  of  these,  both  by 
climate  and  physical  conformation  of  the  land  on  the  face 
of  which  they  operate,  went  to  swell  the  interest  and  sug- 
gestion of  his  theme.  In  handling  such  varied  and 
coloured  material  the  intellectual  exercise  had  been  to  him 

369 


370  DEADHAM  HARD 

delicious,  as  he  fashioned  and  put  a  fine  edge  to  passages 
of  admirable  prose,  coined  the  just  yet  startling  epithet, 
perfected  the  flow  of  some  graceful  period,  and  ransacked 
the  English  language  for  fearless  words  in  which  to  portray 
the  mingled  splendour  and  vileness  of  a  barbaric  oriental 
Court,  the  naked  terrors  of  tribal  feuds  and  internecine 
war. 

The  occupation  had,  indeed,  proved  at  once  so  refreshing 
and  so  absorbing  that  he  went  leisurely,  lengthening  out  the 
process  of  production  until  it  came  nearer  covering  the 
thirty  months  of  elephantine  gestation  than  the  normal 
human  nine. 

With  but  two  brief  sojourns  to  England,  for  the  con- 
sultation of  certain  authorities  anoV  of  his  publishers,  the 
said  near  on  thirty  months  were  passed  in  wandering 
through  Southern  France,  Central  Italy,  and,  taking  ship 
from  Naples  to  Malaga,  finally  through  Eastern  and 
Northern  Spain.  Charles  Verity  was  too  practised  a  cam- 
paigner for  his  power  of  concentration  to  depend  on  the 
stability  or  familiarity  of  his  surroundings.  He  could 
detach  himself,  go  out  into  and  be  alone  with  his  work, 
at  will.  But  the  last  chapter,  like  the  first,  he  elected  to 
write  in  the  study  at  The  Hard.  A  pious  offering  of  in- 
cense, this,  to  the  pleasant  memory  of  that  excellent  scholar 
and  devoted  amateur  of  letters,  his  great-uncle,  Thomas 
Clarkson  Verity,  whose  society  and  conversation  awakened 
the  literary  sense  in  him  as  a  schoolboy,  on  holiday  from 
Harchester,  now  nearly  five  decades  ago.  He  judged  it  a 
matter  of  good  omen,  moreover, — toying  for  the  moment 
with  kindly  superstition — that  the  book  should  issue  from 
a  house  redeemed  by  his  kinsman  from  base  and  brutal 
uses  and  dedicated  to  the  worship  of  knowledge  and  of  the 
printed  word.  That  fat,  soft-bodied,  mercurial-minded 
little  gentleman — to  whom  no  record  of  human  endeavour, 
of  human  speculation,  mental  or  moral  experiment,  came 
amiss — would  surely  relish  the  compliment,  if  his  curious 
and  genial  ghost  still,  in  any  sort,  had  cognizance  of  this, 
his  former,  dwelling-place. 

The  Hard,  just  now,  showed  a  remarkably  engaging  coun- 


THROUGH  SHADOWS  TOWARDS  DAWN     371 

tenance,  the  year  standing  on  the  threshold  of  May. — Mild 
softly  bright  weather  made  amends  for  a  wet  and  windy 
April,  with  sunshine  and  high  forget-me-not  blue  skies 
shading  to  silver  along  the  sea-line.  The  flower-beds,  before 
the  garden  house-front,  were  crowded  with  early  tulips, 
scarlet,  golden,  and  shell-pink.  Shrubberies  glowed  with 
rhododendrons,  flamed  with  azaleas.  At  the  corner  of  the 
battery  and  sea-wall,  misty  grey-green  plumes  of  tamarisk 
veiled  the  tender  background  of  grey-blue  water  and  yellow- 
grey  sand.  Birds  peopled  the  scene.  Gulls,  in  strong  fierce 
flight,  laughed  overhead.  Swallows  darted  back  and  forth, 
ceaselessly  twittering,  as  they  built  their  cup-shaped  mud 
nests  beneath  the  eaves.  Upon  the  lawn  companies  of  star- 
lings ran,  flapping  glossy  wings,  squealing,  whistling ;  to  the 
annoyance  of  a  song  thrush,  in  spotted  waistcoat  and  neatly 
fitting  brown  surtout,  who,  now  tall,  now  flattened  to  the 
level  of  the  turf,  its  head  turned  sideways,  peered  and 
listened,  locating  the  presence  of  the  victim  worm. — Three 
or  four  vigorous  pecks — the  starlings  running  elsewhere — to 
loosen  the  surrounding  soil,  and  the  moist  pink  living  string 
was  steadily,  mercilessly,  drawn  upward  into  the  uncom- 
promising light  of  day,  to  be  devoured  wriggling,  bit  by 
bit,  with  most  unlovely  gusto. — The  chaff-chaff  sharpened 
his  tiny  saw  tipping  about  the  branches  of  the  fir  trees 
in  the  Wilderness,  along  with  the  linnets,  tits,  and  gold- 
finches. 

Such,  out  of  doors,  was  the  home  world  which  received 
Damaris  after  those  many  months  of  continental  travel,  on 
the  eve  of  her  twenty -first  birthday.  To  pass  from  the 
dynamic  to  the  static  mode  must  be  always  something  of  an 
embarrassment  and  trial,  especially  to  the  young  with 
whom  sensation  is  almost  disconcertingly  direct  and  lively. 
Damaris  suffered  the  change  of  conditions  not  without  a 
measure  of  doubt  and  wonder.  For  they  made  demands  to 
which  she  had  become  unaccustomed,  and  to  which  she 
found  it  difficult  to  submit  quite  naturally  and  simply.  A 
whole  social  and  domestic  order,  bristling  with  petty  obliga- 
tions, closed  down  upon  her,  within  the  bounds  of  which 
she  felt  to  move  awkwardly,  at  first,  conscious  of  constraint. 


372  DEADHAM  HARD 

Sympathetic  Mrs.  Cooper,  comely  and  comfortable  Mary, 
and  the  Napoleonic  Patch,  still  reigned  in  house  and  stable. 
Laura  had  returned  to  her  former  allegiance  on  the  an- 
nouncement of  "  the  family's  "  arrival,  and  other  under- 
lings had  been  engaged  by  the  upper  servants  in  conclave. 
To  these  latter  entered  that  Ulysses,  Mr.  Hordle,  so  render- 
ing the  establishment  once  again  complete. 

The  neighbours  duly  called — Dr.  and  Mrs.  Horniblow, 
conscious  of  notable  preferment,  since  high  ecclesiastical 
powers  had  seen  fit  to  present  the  former  to  a  vacant 
canonry  at  Harchester.  For  three  months  yearly  he  would 
in  future  be  resident  in  the  cathedral  city.  This  would 
necessitate  the  employment  of  a  curate  at  Deadham,  for 
the  spiritual  life  of  its  inhabitants  must  by  no  means  suffer 
through  its  vicar's  promotion.  At  the  moment  of  Sir 
Charles  and  Damaris'  return  the  curate  excitement  was  at 
its  height.  It  swept  through  the  spinster-ranks  of  the  con- 
gregation like  an  epidemic.  They  thrilled  with  unac- 
knowledgeable  hopes.  The  Miss  Minetts,  though  mature, 
grew  pink  and  quivered,  confessing  themselves  not  averse 
to  offering  board  and  lodging  to  a  suitable,  a  well-con- 
nected, well-conducted  paying  guest.  To  outpourings  on 
the  enthralling  subject  of  the  curate,  Damaris  found  her- 
self condemned  to  listen  from  every  feminine  visitor  in 
turn.  It  held  the  floor,  to  the  exclusion  of  all  other  topics. 
Her  own  long  absence,  long  journeys,  let  alone  the  affairs 
of  the  world  at  large,  were  of  no  moment  to  these  very  local 
souls.  So  our  young  lady  retired  within  herself,  deploring 
the  existence  of  curates  in  general,  and  the  projected,  in- 
dividual, Deadham  curate  in  particular,  with  a  heartiness 
she  was  destined  later  to  remember.  Had  it  been  pro- 
phetic ? — Not  impossibly  so,  granted  the  somewhat  strange 
prescience  by  which  she  was,  at  times,  possessed. 

For  the  psychic  quality  that,  from  a  child,  now  and 
again  had  manifested  itself  in  her — though  happily  un- 
attended by  morbid  or  hysteric  tendencies,  thanks  to  her 
radiant  health — grew  with  her  growth.  To  her,  in  certain 
moods  and  under  certain  conditions,  the  barrier  between 
things  seen  and  unseen,  material  and  transcendental,  was 


THROUGH  SHADOWS  TOWARDS  DAWN     373 

pervious.  It  yielded  before  the  push  of  her  apprehension, 
sense  of  what  it  guards,  what  it  withholds  within  an  ace 
of  breaking  through. 

Affairs  of  the  heart  would,  so  far,  seem  to  have  begun 
and  ended  with  the  winter  spent  at  St.  Augustin.  Now 
and  again  Damaris  met  an  Englishman,  or  foreigner,  who 
stirred  her  slightly.  But  if  one  accident  of  travel  brought 
them  together,  another  accident  of  travel  speedily  swept 
them  apart.  The  impression  was  fugitive,  superficial,  fad- 
ing out  and  causing  but  momentary  regret.  Colonel 
Carteret  she  only  saw  in  London,  during  those  two  brief 
visits  to  England.  He  had  been  captivating,  treating  her 
with  playful  indulgence,  teasing  a  little;  but  far  away, 
somehow — so  she  felt  him — though  infinitely  kind.  And 
the  dear  man  with  the  blue  eyes — for  she  could  use  her  old 
name  for  him  again  now,  though  she  couldn't  quite  tell  why 
— looked  older.  The  sentimental  passage  at  St.  Augustin 
assumed  improbability — a  fact  over  which  she  should,  in 
all  reason,  have  rejoiced,  yet  over  which  she,  in  point  of 
fact  when  safe  from  observation,  just  a  little  wept. 

From  Henrietta  some  few  letters  reached  her.  One  of 
them  contained  the  news  that  Marshall  Wace,  surmount- 
ing his  religious  doubts  and  scruples — by  precisely  what 
process  remained  undeclared — had  at  last  taken  Holy 
Orders.  Concerning  this  joyful  consummation  Henrietta 
waxed  positively  unctuous.  "  He  had  gone  through  so 
much  " — the  old  cry! — to  which  now  was  added  convic- 
tion that  his  own  trials  fitted  him  to  minister  the  more 
successfully  to  his  brethren  among  the  sorely  tried. 

"  His  preaching  will,  I  feel  certain,  be  quite  extraordi- 
narily original  and  sympathetic — full  of  poetry.  And  I 
need  hardly  tell  you  what  an  immense  relief  it  is  both  to 
the  General  and  to  myself  to  feel  he  is  settled  in  life,  and 
that  his  future  is  provided  for — though  not,  alas!  in  the 
way  I  fondly  hoped,  and  which — for  his  happiness'  sake 
and  my  own — I  should  have  chosen,"  she  insidiously  and 
even  rather  cynically  wrote. 

But,  if  in  respect  of  the  affections  our  maiden,  during 
these  two  years,  made  no  special  progress  and  gained  no 


374  DEADHAM  HARD 

further  experimental  knowledge  of  the  perilous  work- 
ings of  sex,  her  advance  in  other  departments  was 
ample. 

For  faith  now  called  to  her  with  no  uncertain  note.  The 
great  spiritual  forces  laid  hold  of  her  intelligence  and 
imagination,  drawing,  moulding,  enlightening  her.  In  the 
library  of  a  somewhat  grim  hotel  at  Avila,  in  old  Castile, 
she  lighted  upon  an  English  translation  of  the  life  of  St. 
Theresa — that  woman  of  countless  practical  activities,  seer 
and  sybil,  mystic  and  wit.  The  amazing  biography  set  her 
within  the  magic  circle  of  Christian  feminine  beatitude; 
and  opened  before  her  gaze  mighty  perspectives  of  spiritual 
increase,  leading  upward  through  unnumbered  ranks  of 
prophets,  martyrs,  saints,  angelic  powers,  to  the  feet  of  the 
Virgin  Mother,  with  the  Divine  Child  on  her  arm. — He, 
this  last,  as  gateway,  intermediary,  between  the  human  soul 
and  the  mystery  of  God  Almighty,  by  whom,  and  in 
whom,  all  things  visible  and  invisible  subsist.  For  the  first 
time  some  dim  and  halting  perception,  some  faintest  hint 
and  echo,  reached  Damaris  of  the  awful  majesty,  the  awful 
beauty  of  the  fount  of  Universal  Being;  and,  caught  with 
a  great  trembling,  she  worshipped. 

This  culminating  perception,  in  terms  of  time,  amounted 
to  no  more  than  a  single  flash,  the  fraction  of  an  instant's 
contact.  An  hour  or  so  later,  being  very  young  and  very 
human,  the  things  of  everyday  resumed  their  sway.  A  new 
dress  engaged  her  fancy,  a  railway  journey  through — to 
her — untrodden  country  excited  her,  a  picturesque  street 
scene  held  her  delighted  interest.  Nevertheless  that  had 
taken  place  within  her — call  it  conversion,  evocation,  the 
spiritual  receiving  of  sight,  as  you  please — upon  which,  for 
those  who  have  once  experienced  it,  there  is  no  going  back 
while  life  and  reason  last.  Obscured,  overlaid,  buried  be- 
neath the  dust  of  the  trivial  and  immediate,  the  mark  of 
revelation  upon  the  forehead  and  the  heart  can  never  be 
obliterated  quite.  Its  resurrection  is  not  only  possible  but 
certain,  if  not  on  the  near  side,  then  surely  on  the  farther 
side  of  death. 

And  not  only  did  faith  thus  call  her,  at  this  period,  but 


THROUGH  SHADOWS  TOWARDS  DAWN     375 

art,  in  its  many  forms,  called  her  likewise.  The  two,  in- 
deed, according  to  her  present  understanding  of  them, 
moved — though  at  different  levels — side  by  side,  singularly 
conjoined,  art  translating  faith  into  terms  of  sound,  form 
and  colour,  faith  consecrating  and  supplementing  art.  All 
of  which,  as  she  pondered,  appeared  to  her  only  fitting  and 
reasonable — the  object  of  art  being  to  capture  beauty  and 
touch  reality,  the  substance  of  faith  being  nothing  less  than 
beauty  and  reality  absolute. 

With  Sir  Charles  sometimes,  but  more  often  with  her 
aunt,  Miss  Felicia — most  enthusiastic,  diligent  and  in- 
genuous of  sightseers — she  visited  buildings  of  historic  in- 
terest, galleries  of  statuary  and  of  pictures.  For  here,  too, 
in  architecture,  in  marble  god  or  hero,  upon  painted  panel 
or  canvas,  she  caught,  at  moments,  some  flickering  shadow 
of  the  everlasting  light,  touched  at  moments  both  by  its 
abiding  terror  and  the  ecstasy  of  its  everlasting  youth. 
But  this  appreciation  of  the  height  and  grandeur  of  man's 
endeavour  was  new  in  her.  To  Nature  she  had  from  child- 
hood, been  curiously  near.  She  sought  expression  and  con- 
firmation of  it  with  silent  ardour,  her  mind  aflame  with 
the  joy  of  recognition.  And,  as  daily,  hourly  background 
to  these  her  many  experiments  and  excursions,  was  the 
stable  interest  of  her  father's  book.  For  in  the  pages  of 
that,  too,  she  caught  sight  of  beauty  and  reality  of  no  mean 
order,  held  nobly  to  ransom  through  the  medium  of 
words. 

And  while  this  high  humour  still  possessed  her,  alive  at 
every  point,  her  thoughts — often  by  day,  still  oftener  in 
dreams  or  wakeful  intervals  by  night — rapt  away  beyond 
the  stars,  she  was  called  upon,  as  already  noted,  to  pass 
abruptly  from  the  dynamic  to  the  static  mode.  Called  on 
to  embrace  domestic  duties,  and  meet  local  social  obliga- 
tions, including  polite  endurance  of  long-drawn  disquisi- 
tions regarding  Canon  Horniblow's  impending  curate.  The 
drop  proved  disconcerting,  or  would  have  eminently  done 
so  had  not  another  element — disquieting  yet  very  dear — 
come  into  play. 

Meantime  the  change  from  the  stimulating  continental 


376  DEADHAM  HARD 

atmosphere  to  the  particularly  soft  and  humid,  not  to  say 
stagnant,  English  one,  acted  as  a  drop  too.  She  drooped 
during  the  process  of  acclimatization.  The  foetid  sweet  reek 
off  the  mud-flats  of  the  Haven  oppressed  and  strangely  pur- 
sued her,  so  that  she  asked  for  the  horses  to  take  her  to  the 
freshness  of  the  high  lying  inland  moors,  for  a  boat  to  carry 
her  across  the  tide-river  to  the  less  confined  air  and  outlook 
of  the  Bar.  Sight  and  sense  of  the  black  wooden  houses, 
upon  the  forbidden  island,  hanging  like  disreputable  boon 
companions  about  the  grey  stone-built  inn,  oppressed  and 
strangely  pursued  her  too.  She  could  see  them  from  her 
bedroom  between  the  red  trunks  of  the  bird-haunted  Scotch 
firs  in  the  Wilderness.  First  thing,  on  clear  mornings,  the 
sunlight  glittered  on  the  glass  of  their  small  windows.  Last 
thing,  at  night,  the  dim  glow  of  lamplight  showed  through 
open  doorway,  or  flimsy  curtain  from  within.  They  stood 
alone,  but  curiously  united  and  self-sufficing,  upon  the 
treeless  inhospitable  piece  of  land,  ringed  by  the  rivers,  the 
great  whispering  reed-beds  and  the  tide.  Their  life  was 
strangely  apart  from,  defiant  of,  that  of  the  mainland  and 
the  village.  It  yielded  obedience  to  traditions  and  customs 
of  an  earlier,  wilder  age;  and  in  so  much  was  sinister,  a 
little  frightening.  Yet  out  of  precisely  this  rather  primi- 
tive and  archaic  environment  came  Darcy  Faircloth,  her 
half-brother,  the  human  being  closest  to  her  by  every  tie  of 
blood  and  sentiment  in  the  world  save  one — the  father  of 
them  both.  The  situation  was  startling,  alike  in  its  incon- 
gruities and  in  its  claims. 

During  those  two  years  of  continental  wandering — fol- 
lowing upon  her  meeting  with  him  at  Marseilles — the  whole 
sweet  and  perplexing  matter  of  Faircloth  had  fallen  more 
or  less  into  line,  taking  on  a  measure  of  simplicity  and  of 
ease.  She  thought  of  him  with  freedom,  wrote  to  him  when 
he  could  advise  her  of  his  next  port  of  call. — To  him  at 
Deadham,  by  his  request,  he  being  very  careful  for  her,  she 
never  wrote. — And  therefore,  all  the  more  perhaps,  being 
here  at  Deadham,  his  home  and  all  the  suggestive  accessories 
of  it  so  constantly  before  her  eyes,  did  her  relation  to  him 
suffer  a  painful  transformation.  In  remembrance  she  had 


THROUGH  SHADOWS  TOWARDS  DAWN    377 

come  to  picture  him  on  board  his  ship,  governing  his  little 
floating  kingdom  with  no  feeble  or  hesitating  sway.  But 
here  every  impeding  fact  of  class  and  education,  every 
worldly  obstacle  to  his  and  her  intercourse,  above  all  the 
hidden  scandal  of  his  birth  sprang  into  high  relief.  All  the 
dividing,  alienating  influences  of  his  antecedents,  his  social 
position  and  her  own,  swung  in  upon  her  with  aggravated 
intensity  and  pathos. 

Away,  she  felt  sweetly  secure  of  him.  Sure  his  and  her 
bond  remained  inviolate.  Sure  his  affection  never  wavered 
or  paled,  but  stood  always  at  the  flood,  a  constant  quantity 
upon  which  she  could  draw  at  need;  or — to  change  the 
metaphor — a  steady  foundation  upon  which  her  heart  could 
safely  build.  He  would  not,  could  not,  ever  fail  her.  This 
had  been  sufficient  to  stay  her  longing  for  sight  and  speech 
of  him,  her  longing  for  his  bodily  presence.  But  now,  in 
face  of  the  very  concrete  facts  of  the  island,  the  inn,  which 
bore  his  name  and  where  his  mother  lived  and  ruled,  of  the 
property  he  owned,  the  place  and  people  to  which — by  half 
at  least  of  his  nature  and  much  more  than  half  his  memory 
— he  belonged,  the  comfort  of  this  spiritual  esoteric  relation 
became  but  a  meagre  evasive  thing.  It  was  too  unsubstan- 
tial. Doubts  and  fears  encircled  it.  She  grew  heart-sick 
for  some  fresh  testimony,  some  clear  immediate  assurance 
that  time  and  absence  had  not  staled  or  undermined  the 
romance. 

If  only  she  could  speak  of  it!  But  that  was  forbidden 
by  every  obligation  of  filial  piety.  Never  had  her  relation 
to  her  father  been  more  tender,  more  happy;  yet  only 
through  sudden  pressure  of  outward  circumstance  could  she 
speak  to  him  of  Faircloth.  To  do  so,  without  serious  neces- 
sity, would  be,  as  she  saw  it,  a  wanton  endangering  of  his 
peace. — If  only  the  dear  man  with  the  blue  eyes  hadn't  re- 
moved himself!  She  had  counted  upon  his  permanent 
support  and  counsel,  on  his  smoothing  away  difficulties  from 
the  path  of  her  dealings  with  Faircloth;  but  he  appeared 
to  have  given  her  altogether  the  go-by,  to  have  passed  alto- 
gether out  of  her  orbit.  And  meditating,  in  the  softly 
bright  May  weather  beneath  those  high  forget-me-not  blue 


378  DEADHAM  HARD 

skies,  upon  his  defection,  our  maiden  felt  quite  desper- 
ately experienced  and  grown  up,  thrown  back  upon 
her  own  resources,  thrown  in  upon  her  rather  solitary 
life. 

Throughout  the  summer  visitors  came  and  went;  but 
never  those  two  desired  figures,  Faircloth  or  Carteret.  Dr. 
McCabe,  vociferous  in  welcome,  affectionate,  whimsical  and 
choleric,  trundled  over  from  Stourmouth  on  a  bicycle  of 
phenomenal  height. 

' '  On  the  horse  without  wheels  I  'm  proficient  enough, ' '  he 
declared.  "  Know  the  anatomy  of  the  darlin'  beast  as  well 
as  I  do  my  own,  inside  and  out.  But,  be  dashed,  if  the 
wheels  without  the  horse  aren't  beyond  me  quite.  Lord 
love  you,  but  the  skittish  animal's  given  me  some  ugly 
Tmocks,  cast  me  away,  it  has,  in  the  wayside  ditch, 
covering  me  soul  with  burning  shame,  and  me  jacket  with 
malodorous  mud." 

At  intervals  Aunt  Harriet  Cowden  and  Uncle  Augustus 
drove  over  in  state  the  twelve  miles  from  Paulton  Lacy — 
the  lady  faithful  to  garments  dyed,  according  to  young 
Tom  Verity,  in  the  horrid  hues  of  violet  ink.  She  ex- 
pressed her  opinions  with  ruthless  frankness,  criticized, 
domineered,  put  all  and  sundry  in — what  she  deemed — 
"their  place";  and  departed  for  the  big  house  on  the 
confines  of  Arnewood  Forest  again,  to,  had  she  but  known 
it,  a  chorus  of  sighings  of  relief  from  those  she  left  behind 
her  and  on  whose  emotional  and  intellectual  tastes  and  toes 
she  so  mercilessly  trod. 

Garden  parties,  tennis  tournaments,  the  Napworth  cricket 
week,  claimed  Damaris'  attendance  in  turn,  along  with 
agreeable  display  of  her  foreign  spoils  in  the  matter  of 
Paris  hats  and  frocks.  Proofs  arrived  in  big  envelopes  per- 
petually by  post;  first  in  the  long,  wide-margined  galley 
form,  later  in  the  more  dignified  one  of  quire  and  numbered 
page.  The  crude,  sour  smell  of  damp  paper  and  fresh 
printer's  ink,  for  the  first  time  assailed  our  maiden's 
nostrils.  It  wasn't  nice;  yet  she  sniffed  it  with  a  quaint 
sense  of  pleasure.  For  was  it  not  part  of  the  whole  won- 
derful, beautiful  business  of  the  making  of  books  ?  To  the 


THROUGH  SHADOWS  TOWARDS  DAWN     379 

artist  the  meanest  materials  of  his  art  have  a  sacredness  not 
to  be  denied  or  ignored.  They  go  to  forward  the  birth  of 
the  precious  whole,  and  hence  are  redeemed,  for  him,  from 
all  charge  of  common  or  uncleanness. 

Finally  Miss  Felicia,  arriving  in  mid-June,  paid  an  un- 
ending visit,  of  which  Damaris  felt  no  impatience.  Miss 
Felicia  during  the  last  two  years  had,  indeed,  become  a 
habit.  The  major  affairs  of  life  it  might  be  both  useless 
and  unwise  to  submit  to  her  judgment.  She  lost  her  way 
in  them,  fluttering  ineffectual,  gently  hurried  and  bird- 
like.  But,  in  life's  minor  affairs,  her  innocent  enthusiasm 
was  invaluable  as  an  encouraging  asset.  It  lent  point  and 
interest  to  happenings  and  occupations  otherwise  trivial 
or  monotonous.  If  silly  at  times,  she  never  was  stupid — 
a  distinction  of  meaning  and  moment. — A  blameless  crea- 
ture, incapable  of  thinking,  still  more  of  speaking,  evil  of 
the  worst  or  weakest,  her  inherent  goodness  washed  about 
you  like  sun-warmed  water,  if  sterile  yet  translucently 
pure. 

And  so  the  months  accumulated.  The  clear  colours  of 
spring  ripened  to  the  hotter  gamut  of  mid-summer,  to  an 
August  splendour  of  ripening  harvest  in  field,  orchard  and 
hedgerow,  and  thence  to  the  purple,  russet  and  gold  of 
autumn.  The  birds,  their  nesting  finished,  ceased  from 
song,  as  the  active  care  of  hungry  fledglings  grew  on  them. 
The  swallows  had  gathered  for  their  southern  flight,  and  the 
water- fowl  returned  from  their  northern  immigration  to  the 
waters  and  reed-beds  of  the  Haven,  Sir  Charles  Verity's 
book,  in  two  handsome  quarto  volumes,  had  been  duly 
reviewed  and  found  a  place  of  honour  in  every  library, 
worth  the  name,  in  the  United  Kingdom,  before  anything 
of  serious  importance  occurred  directly  affecting  our 
maiden.  Throughout  spring,  summer  and  the  first  weeks 
of  autumn,  she  marked  time  merely.  Her  activities  and 
emotions — in  as  far,  that  is,  as  outward  expression  of  these 
last  went — were  vicarious,  those  of  others.  She  glowed  over 
and  gloried  in  the  triumph  of  her  father's  book,  it  is 
true,  but  it  was  his  adventure,  after  all,  rather  than  her 
own. 


380  DEADHAM  HARD 

Then  suddenly,  as  is  the  way  with  life,  events  crowded  on 
one  another,  the  drama  thickened,  sensation  was  tuned  to  a 
higher  pitch.  And  it  all  began,  not  unludicrously,  through 
the  praiseworthy,  if  rather  ill-timed  moral  indignation  of 
Canon  Horniblow's  newly  installed  curate,  Reginald 
Sawyer. 


CHAPTER  II 

RECALLING,    IN    SOME    PARTICULARS,    THE    EASIEST    RECORDED 
THEFT  IN  HUMAN  HISTORY 

HE  was  short,  neat,  spectacled,  in  manner  prompt 
and  perky,  in  age  under  thirty,  a  townsman  by 
birth  and  education,  hailing  from  Midlandshire. 
Further,  a  strong  advocate  of  organization,  and  imbued 
with  the  deepest  respect  for  the  obligations  and  preroga- 
tives of  his  profession  upon  the  ethical  side.  He  took  him- 
self very  seriously;  and  so  took,  also,  the  decalogue  as 
delivered  to  mankind  amid  the  thunders  of  Sinai.  Keep 
the  Ten  Commandments,  according  to  the  letter,  and  you 
may  confidently  expect  all  things,  spiritual  and  temporal, 
to  be  added  unto  you — such  was  the  basis  of  his  teaching 
and  of  his  private  creed. 

He  came  to  Deadham  ardent  for  the  reformation  of  that 
remote,  benighted  spot,  so  disgracefully,  as  he  feared — 
and  rather  hoped — behind  the  times.  He  suspected  its 
canon-vicar  of  being  very  much  too  easygoing;  and  its 
population,  in  respect  of  moral  conduct,  of  being  lamentably 
lax.  In  neither  of  which  suppositions,  it  must  be  admitted, 
was  he  altogether  incorrect.  But  he  intended  to  alter  all 
that! — Regarding  himself  thus,  in  the  light  of  a  provi- 
dentially selected  new  broom,  he  applied  himself  diligently 
to  sweep.  A  high-minded  and  earnest,  if  not  conspicuously 
well-bred  young  man,  he  might  in  a  suburban  parish  have 
done  excellent  work.  But  upon  Deadham,  with  its  enervat- 
ing, amorous  climate  and  queer  inheritance  of  forest  and 
seafaring — in  other  words  poaching  and  smuggling — blood, 
he  was  wasted,  out  of  his  element  and  out  of  touch.  The 
slow  moving  South  Saxon  cocked  a  shrewd  sceptical  eye 
at  him,  sized  him  up  and  down  and  sucked  in  its  cheek 
refusing  to  be  impressed.  While  by  untoward  accident,  his 

881 


382  DEADHAM  HARD 

misfortune  rather  than  his  fault,  the  earliest  of  his  moral 
sweepings  brought  him  into  collision  with  the  most  reac- 
tionary element  in  the  community,  namely  the  inhabitants 
of  the  black  cottages  upon  the  Island. 

The  event  fell  out  thus.  The  days  shortened,  the  eve- 
nings lengthened  growing  misty  and  secret  as  October 
advanced.  The  roads  became  plashy  and  rutted,  the  sides 
of  them  silent  with  fallen  leaves  under  foot.  An  odd  sense 
of  excitement  flickers  through  such  autumn  twilights.  Boys 
herded  in  little  troops  on  wickedness  intent.  Whooping 
and  whistling  to  disarm  their  elders'  suspicion  until  the 
evil  deed  should  be  fairly  within  reach,  then  mum  as  mice, 
stealthily  vanishing,  becoming  part  and  parcel  of  the  earth, 
the  hedge,  the  harsh  dusky  grasses  of  the  sand-hills,  the 
foreshore  lumber  on  the  beach. 

Late  one  afternoon,  the  hour  of  a  hidden  sunset,  Reginald 
Sawyer  called  at  The  Hard;  and  to  his  eminent  satisfac- 
tion— for  social  aspirations  were  by  no  means  foreign  to 
him — was  invited  to  remain  to  tea.  The  ladies — Damaris 
and  Miss  Felicia — were  kind,  the  cakes  and  cream  superla- 
tive. He  left  in  high  feather;  and,  at  Damaris'  suggestion, 
took  a  short  cut  through  the  Wilderness  and  by  a  path 
crossing  the  warren  to  the  lane,  leading  up  from  the  cause- 
way, which  joins  the  high-road  just  opposite  the  post  office 
and  Mrs.  Doubleday's  shop.  By  following  this  route  he 
would  save  quite  half  a  mile  on  his  homeward  journey; 
since  the  Grey  House,  where  he  enjoyed  the  Miss  Minetts' 
assiduous  and  genteel  hospitality,  is  situate  at  the  extreme 
end  of  Deadham  village  on  the  road  to  Lampit. 

Out  on  the  warren,  notwithstanding  the  hour  and  the 
mist,  it  was  still  fairly  light,  the  zigzagging  sandy  path 
plainly  visible  between  the  heath,  furze  brakes,  stunted  firs 
and  thorn  bushes.  The  young  clergyman,  although  more 
familiar  with  crowded  pavements  and  flare  of  gas-lamps 
than  open  moorland  in  the  deepening  dusk,  pursued  his 
way  without  difficulty.  What  a  wild  region  it  was  though ! 
He  thought  of  the  sober  luxury  of  the  library  at  The  Hard, 
the  warmth,  the  shaded  lights,  the  wealth  of  books ;  of  the 
grace  of  Damaris'  clothing  and  her  person,  and  wondered 


THROUGH  SHADOWS  TOWARDS  DAWN  383 

how  people  of  position  and  education  could  be  content  to 
live  in  so  out  of  the  way  and  savage  a  spot.  It  was 
melancholy  to  a  degree,  in  his  opinion. — Oh !  well,  he  must 
do  his  best  to  wake  it  up,  infuse  a  spirit  of  progress  into 
it  more  in  keeping  with  nineteenth-century  ideas.  Every- 
one would  be  grateful  to  him 

A  little  questioning  pause — assurance  in  momentary 
eclipse.  Then  with  renewed  cheerfulness — Of  course  they 
would — the  upper  classes,  that  is.  For  they  must  feel  the 
disadvantages  of  living  in  such  a  backwater.  He  gave 
them  credit  for  the  wish  to  advance  could  they  but  find  the 
way.  All  they  needed  was  leadership,  which  Canon  Horni- 
blow — evidently  past  his  work — was  powerless  to  supply. 
He,  Sawyer,  came  as  a  pioneer.  Once  they  grasped  that 
fact  they  would  rally  to  him.  The  good  Miss  Minetts  were 
rallying  hard,  so  to  speak,  already.  Oh!  there  was  ex- 
cellent material  in  Deadham  among  the  gentlefolk.  It 
merely  needed  working,  needed  bringing  out. 

From  the  lower,  the  wage-earning  class,  sunk  as  it  was  in 
ignorance,  he  must,  he  supposed,  expect  but  a  poor  re- 
sponse, opposition  not  impossibly.  Opposition  would  not 
daunt  him.  You  must  be  prepared  to  do  people  good,  if 
not  with,  then  against  their  will.  He  was  here  to  make- 
them  rebel  against  and  shake  off  the  remnants  of  the  Dark 
Ages  amid  which  they  so  extraordinarily  appeared  still 
to  live.  He  had  no  conception  so  low  a  state  of  civilization 
could  exist  within  little  over  a  hundred  miles  of  the 
metropolis! — It  was  a  man's  work,  anyhow,  and  he  must 
put  his  back  into  it.  Must  organize — word  of  power — 
organize  night  classes,  lectures  with  lantern  slides,  social 
evenings,  a  lads'  club.  Above  all  was  there  room  and 
necessity  for  this  last.  The  Deadham  lads  were  very  rowdy, 
very  unruly.  They  gathered  at  corners  in  an  objectionable 
manner;  hung  about  the  public-house.  He  must  undersell 
the  public-house  by  offering  counter  attractions.  Amongst 
the  men  he  suspected  a  sad  amount  of  drinking.  Their 
speech,  too,  was  so  reprehensibly  coarse.  He  had  heard 
horrible  language  in  the  village  street.  He  reproved  the 
offenders  openly,  as  was  his  duty,  and  his  admonitions  were 


384  DEADHAM  HARD 

greeted  with  a  laugh,  an  insolent,  offensive,  jeering 
laugh. 

Sawyer  cut  at  the  dark  straggling  furzes  bordering  the 
path  with  his  walking-stick.  Recollection  of  that  laugh 
made  him  go  red  about  the  ears ;  made  his  skin  tingle  and 
his  eyes  smart.  It  represented  an  insult  not  only  to  him- 
self but  to  his  cloth.  Yet  he'd  not  lost  control  of  himself, 
he  was  glad  to  remember,  though  the  provocation  was 
rank 

He  cut  at  the  furze  again,  being  by  nature  combative. 
And — stopped  short,  with  a  start,  a  tremor  running  through 
him.  Something  rustled,  scuttled  away  amongst  the  bushes, 
and  something  flapped  upward  behind  him  into  the  thick 
lowering  sky  above.  A  wailing  cry — whether  human,  or 
of  bird  or  beast,  he  was  uncomfortably  ignorant — came  out 
of  the  mist  ahead,  to  be  answered  by  a  like  and  nearer  cry 
from  a  spot  which  he  failed,  in  his  agitation,  to  locate. 

Under  ordinary  conditions  the  young  cleric  was  neither 
troubled  by  imagination  nor  lacking  in  pluck.  His  ha- 
bitual outlook  was  sensible,  literal  and  direct.  But,  it 
must  be  owned,  this  wide  indistinct  landscape,  over  which 
pale  vapours  trailed  and  brooded,  the  immense  loneliness  of 
the  felt  rather  than  seen,  expanse  of  water,  marsh  and 
mud-flat  of  the  Haven — the  tide  being  low — along  with 
the  goblin  whispering  chuckle  of  the  river  speeding  seaward 
away  there  on  his  left,  made  him  oddly  jumpy  and  nervous. 
No  human  being  was  in  sight,  neither  did  any  human  dwell- 
ing show  signs  of  habitation.  He  wished  he  had  gone  round 
by  the  road  and  through  the  length  of  the  village.  He 
registered  a  vow  against  short  cuts — save  in  broad  daylight 
— for  his  present  surroundings  inspired  him  with  the  liveli- 
est distrust.  They  were  to  him  positively  nightmarish. 
He  suffered  the  nastiest  little  fears  of  what  might  follow 
him,  what  might,  even  now,  peer  and  lurk.  Heretofore  he 
had  considered  the  earth  as  so  much  dead  matter,  to  be 
usefully  and  profitably  exploited  by  all-dominant  man — 
specially  by  men  of  his  own  creed  and  race.  But  now 
the  power  of  the  earth  laid  hands  on  him.  She  lived,  and 
mankind  dwindled  to  the  proportions  of  parasitic  insects, 


THROUGH  SHADOWS  TOWARDS  DAWN    385 

aE  most  irritating  some  small  portions  of  her  skin,  her  vast 
indifferent  surface.  Such  ideas  had  never  occurred  to  him 
before.  He  resented  them — essayed  to  put  them  from  him 
as  trenching  on  blasphemy. 

Starting  on  again,  angry  alike  with  himself  for  enter- 
taining, and  with  the  unknown  for  engendering,  such  sub- 
versive notions,  his  pace  unconsciously  quickened  to  a  run. 
But  the  line  of  some  half-dozen  ragged  Scotch  firs,  which 
here  topped  the  low  cliff  bordering  the  river,  to  his  dis- 
ordered vision  seemed  most  uncomfortably  to  run  alongside 
him,  stretching  gaunt  arms  through  the  encircling  mist 
to  arrest  his  flight. 

He  regarded  them  with  an  emotion  of  the  liveliest  antipa- 
thy ;  consciously  longing,  meanwhile,  for  the  humming 
thoroughfares  of  his  native  industrial  town,  for  the  rattle 
and  grind  of  the  horse-trams,  the  brightly  lighted  shop- 
fronts,  the  push  all  about  him  of  human  labour,  of  booming 
trade  and  vociferous  politics.  Even  the  glare  of  a  gin 
palace,  flooding  out  across  the  crowded  pavement  at  some 
street  corner,  would  have,  just  now,  been  fraught  with 
solace,  convinced  prohibitionist  though  he  was.  For  he 
v,rould,  at  least,  have  been  in  no  doubt  how  to  feel  towards 
that  stronghold  of  Satan — righteously  thanking  God  he 
was  not  as  those  reprehensible  others,  who  passed  in  and 
out  of  its  ever-swinging  doors.  While  towards  this  earth 
dominance,  this  dwarfing  of  human  life  by  the  life  of  things 
he  had  hitherto  called  inanimate,  he  did  not  know  how  to 
feel  at  all.  It  attacked  some  unarmoured,  unprotected 
part  of  him.  Against  its  assault  he  was  defenceless. 

With  a  sense  of  escape  from  actual  danger,  whether 
physical  or  moral  he  did  not  stay  to  enquire,  he  stumbled, 
a  few  minutes  later,,  through  a  gap  in  the  earth-bank  into 
the  wet  side  lane.  Arrived,  he  gave  himself  a  moment's 
breathing  space.  It  was  darker  here  than  out  upon  the 
warren;  but,  anyhow,  this  was  a  lane.  It  had  direction 
and  meaning.  Men  had  constructed  it  for  the  linking  up 
of  house  with  house,  hamlet  with  hamlet.  Like  all  roads, 
it  represented  the  initial  instinct  of  communal  life,  the 
basis  of  a  reasoned  social  order,  of  civilization  in  short. 


386  DEADHAM  HARD 

He  walked  forward  over  the  soft  couch  of  fallen,  water- 
soaked  leaves,  his  boots  squelching  at  times  into  inches  of 
sucking  mud,  and  his  spirits  rose.  He  began  to  enter  into 
normal  relations  both  with  himself  and  with  things  in 
general.  A  hundred  yards  or  so  and  the  village  green 
would  be  reached. 

Then  on  his  left,  behind  an  ill-kept  quick-set  hedge  that 
guarded  a  strip  of  garden  and  orchard,  he  became  aware 
of  movement.  Among  the  apple  trees  three  small  figures 
shuffled  about  some  dark  recumbent  object.  For  the  most 
part  they  went  on  all  fours,  but  at  moments  reared  up  on 
their  hind  legs.  Their  action  was  at  once  silent,  stealthy 
and  purposeful.  Our  young  clergyman's  shortness  of  sight 
rendered  their  appearance  the  more  peculiar.  His  normal 
attitude  was  not  so  completely  restored,  moreover,  but  that 
they  caused  him  another  nervous  tremor.  Then  he  grasped 
the  truth;  while  the  detective,  latent  in  every  moralist, 
sprang  to  attention.  Here  were  criminals  to  be  brought  to 
justice,  criminals  caught  red-handed.  Reginald  Sawyer, 
having  been  rather  badly  scared  himself,  lusted — though 
honestly  ignorant  of  any  personal  touch  in  the  matter — to 
very  badly  scare  others. 

Standing  back  beside  the  half-open  gate,  screened  by  the 
hedge,  here  high  and  straggling,  he  awaited  the  psycho- 
logical moment,  ready  to  pounce.  To  enter  the  orchard 
and  confront  these  sinners  with  their  crime,  if  their  activi- 
ties did  by  chance  happen  to  be  legitimate,  was  to  put 
himself  altogether  in  the  wrong.  He  would  bide  his  time, 
would  let  them  conclude  their — in  his  belief — nefarious 
business  and  challenge  them  as  they  passed  out. 

Nor  had  he  long  to  wait.  The  two  smaller  boys,  breathing 
hard,  hoisted  the  bulging,  half-filled  sack  on  to  the  back  of 
their  bigger  companion;  who,  bowed  beneath  its  weight, 
grunting  with  exertion,  advanced  towards  the  exit. 

Sawyer  laid  aside  his  walking-stick,  and,  as  the  leader 
of  the  procession  came  abreast  of  him,  pounced.  But 
missed  his  aim.  Upon  which  the  boy  cast  down  the  sack, 
from  the  mouth  of  which  apples,  beets,  turnips  rolled  into 
the  road ;  and,  with  a  yelp,  bolted  down  the  lane  towards  the 


THROUGH  SHADOWS  TOWARDS  DAWN    387 

causeway,  leaving  his  accomplices  to  their  fate.  These, 
thrown  into  confusion  by  the  suddenness  of  his  desertion, 
hesitated  and  were  lost.  For,  pouncing  again,  and  that  the 
more  warily  for  his  recent  failure,  Sawyer  collared  one 
with  either  hand. 

They  were  maladorous  children;  and  the  young  clergy- 
man, grasping  woollen  jersey-neck  and  shirt-band,  the  backs 
of  his  hands  in  contact  with  the  backs  of  their  moist,  warm, 
dirty  little  necks,  suffered  disgust,  yet  held  them  the  more 
firmly. 

"  I  am  convinced  you  have  no  right  to  that  fruit  or  to 
those  vegetables.  You  are  stealing.  Give  an  account  of 
yourselves  at  once." 

And  he  shook  them  slightly  to  emphasize  his  command. 
One  hung  on  his  hand,  limp  as  a  rag.  The  other  showed 
fight,  kicking  our  friend  liberally  about  the  shins,  with 
hobnailed  boots  which  did,  most  confoundly,  hurt. 

"  You  lem'  me  go,"  he  cried.  "  Lem'  me  go,  or  I'll 
tell  father,  and  first  time  you  come  along  by  our  place  Vll 
set  the  ratting  dawgs  on  to  you.  Our  ole  bitch  'as  got  'er 
teeth  yet.  She'll  bite.  Ketch  the  fleshy  part  of  your  leg, 
she  will,  and  just  tear  and  bite." 

This  carrying  of  war  into  the  enemy 's  country  proved  as 
disconcerting  as  unexpected,  while  to  mention  the  sex  of 
an  animal  was,  in  Reginald  Sawyer's  opinion,  to  be  guilty 
of  unpardonable  coarseness.  The  atmosphere  of  a  Protes- 
tant middle-class  home  clung  to  him  yet,  begetting  in  him  a 
squeamishness,  not  to  say  prudery,  almost  worthy  of  his 
hostesses,  the  Miss  Minetts.  He  shook  the  culprits  again, 
with  a  will.  He  also  blushed. 

"  If  you  were  honest  you  would  be  anxious  to  give  an 
account  of  yourselves, ' '  he  asserted,  ignoring  the  unpleasant 
matter  of  the  dogs.  "  I  am  afraid  you  are  very  wicked 
boys.  You  have  stolen  these  vegetables  and  fruits.  Thieves 
are  tried  by  the  magistrates,  you  know,  and  sent  to  prison. 
I  shall  take  you  to  the  police-station.  There  the  constable 
will  find  means  to  make  you  confess." 

Beyond  provoking  a  fresh  paroxysm  of  kicking,  these 
adjurations  were  without  result.  His  captives  appeared 


388  DEADHAM  HARD 

equally  impervious  to  shame,  contrition  or  alarm.  They 
remained  obstinately  mute.  Whereupon  it  began  to  dawn 
upon  their  captor  that  his  position  risked  becoming  not  a 
little  invidious,  since  the  practical  difficulty  of  carrying  his 
threats  into  execution  was  so  great.  How  could  he  haul  two 
sturdy,  active  children,  plus  a  sack  still  containing  a  goodly 
quantity  of  garden  produce,  some  quarter  of  a  mile  with- 
out help  ?  To  let  them  go,  on  the  other  hand,  was  to  have 
them  incontinently  vanish  into  those  trailing  whitish 
vapours  creeping  over  the  face  of  the  landscape.  And, 
once  vanished,  they  were  lost  to  him,  since  he  knew  neither 
their  names  nor  dwelling  place;  and  could,  with  no  cer- 
tainty, identify  them,  having  seen  them  only  in  the  act 
of  struggle  and  in  this  uncertain  evening  light.  He  felt 
himself  very  nastily  planted  on  the  horns  of  a  dilemma, 
when  on  a  sudden  there  arrived  help. 

A  vehicle  of  some  description  turned  out  of  the  main  road 
and  headed  down  the  lane. 

Laocoon-like,  flanked  on  either  hand  by  a  writhing  youth- 
ful figure,  Reginald  Sawyer  called  aloucl : 

"  Hi! — Stop,  there — pray,  stop." 

Darcy  Faircloth  lighted  down  out  of  a  ramshackle  Mary- 
church  station  fly,  and  advanced  towards  the  rather  in- 
comprehensible group. 

"What's  happened?  What's  the  matter?"  he  said. 
' '  What  on  earth  do  you  want  with  those  two  youngsters  ?  ' ' 

"  I  want  to  convey  them  to  the  proper  authorities," 
Sawyer  answered,  with  all  the  self-importance  he  could 
muster.  He  found  his  interlocutor's  somewhat  abrupt  and 
lordly  manner  at  once  annoying  and  impressive,  as  were 
his  commanding  height  and  rather  ruffling  gait.  "  These 
boys  have  been  engaged  in  robbing  a  garden.  I  caught 
them  in  the  act,  and  it  is  my  duty  to  see  that  they  pay  the 
penalty  of  their  breach  of  the  law.  I  count  on  your  as- 
sistance in  taking  them  to  the  police-station." 

"  You  want  to  give  them  in  charge?  " 

"  What  else? — The  moral  tone  of  this  parish  is,  I  grieve 
to  say,  very  low." 

Sawyer  talked  loud  and  fast  in  the  effort  to  assert  himself. 


THROUGH  SHADOWS  TOWARDS  DAWN     389 

"  Low  and  coarse/'  he  repeated.  "  Both  as  a  warning 
to  others,  and  in  the  interests  of  their  own  future,  an  ex- 
ample must  be  made  of  these  two  lads." 

"  Must  it?  "  Faircloth  said,  towering  above  him  in  the 
pale  bewildering  mist. 

The  little  boys,  who  had  remained  curiously  and  rather 
dangerously  still  since  the  advent  of  this  stranger,  now 
strained  together,  signalling,  whispering.  Sawyer  shook 
them  impatiently  apart. 

"  Steady  there,  please,"  Faircloth  put  in  sharply.  "  It 
strikes  me  you  take  a  good  deal  upon  yourself.  May  I 
ask  who  you  are?  " 

"  I  am  the  assistant  priest,"  Reginald  began.  But  his 
explanation  was  cut  short  by  piping  voices. 

"  It's  Cap 'en  Darcy,  that's  who  it  is.  We  never  meant 
no  'arm,  Cap  'en.  That  we  didn  't.  The  apples  was  rotting 
on  the  ground,  s'h'lp  me  if  they  wasn't.  Grannie  Staples 
was  took  to  the  Union  last  "Wednesday  fortnight,  and  any- 
one's  got  the  run  of  her  garden  since.  Don't  you  let  the 
new  parson  get  us  put  away,  Cap 'en.  We  belongs  to  the 
Island — I'm  William  Jennifer's  Tommy,  please  Cap 'en, 
and  Vs  Bobby  Sclanders  'e  is." 

And  being  cunning,  alike  by  nature  and  stress  of  cir- 
cumstance, they  pathetically  drooped,  blubbering  in  chorus : 

"  We  never  didn't  mean  no  'arm,  Cap 'en.  Strike  me 
dead  if  we  did." 

At  which  last  implied  profanity  Reginald  Sawyer  shud- 
dered, loosening  his  grasp. 

Of  what  followed  he  could  subsequently  give  no  definite 
account.  The  dignities  of  his  sacred  profession  and  his 
self-respect  alike  reeled  ignominiously  into  chaos.  He  be- 
lieved he  heard  the  person,  addressed  as  Captain  Darcy,  say 
quietly : 

"  Cut  it,  youngsters.    Now's  your  chance." 

He  felt  that  both  the  children  violently  struggled,  and 
that  the  round  hard  head  of  one  of  them  butted  him  in  the 
stomach.  He  divined  that  sounds  of  ribald  laughter,  in 
the  distance,  proceeded  from  the  driver  of  the  Marychurch 
station  fly.  He  knew  two  small  figures  raced  whooping 


390  DEADHAM  HARD 

down  the  lane  attended  by  squelchings  of  mud  and  clatter 
of  heavy  soled  boots. 

Knew,  further,  that  Captain  Darcy,  after  nonchalantly 
picking  up  the  sack,  dropping  it  within  the  garden  hedge 
and  closing  the  rickety  gate,  stood  opposite  him  and  quite 
civilly  said: 

"  I  am  sorry  I  could  not  give  you  the  sort  of  assistance, 
sir,  which  you  asked.  But  the  plan  would  not  have 
worked." 

Sawyer  boiled  over. 

"  You  have  compounded  a  felony  and  done  all  that  lay 
in  your  power  to  undermine  my  authority  with  my 
parishioners.  Fortunately  I  retain  the  boys'  names  and 
can  make  further  enquiries.  This,  however,  by  no  means 
relieves  you  of  the  charge  of  having  behaved  with  repre* 
hensible  levity  both  towards  my  office  and  myself." 

"  No — no,"  Faircloth  returned,  goodnaturedly.  "  Sleep 
upon  it,  and  you  will  take  an  easier  view  of  the  transaction. 
I  have  saved  you  from  putting  unmerited  disgrace  upon  two 
decent  families  and  getting  yourself  into  hot  water  up  to 
the  neck.  I  know  these  Deadham  folk  better  than  you  do. 
I'm  one  of  them,  you  see,  myself.  They've  uncommonly 
long  memories  where  they're  offended,  though  it  may  suit 
them  to  speak  you  soft.  Take  it  from  me,  you'll  never 
hound  them  into  righteousness.  They  turn  as  stubborn  as 
so  many  mules  under  the  whip." 

He  hailed  the  waiting  flyman. 

"  Good  evening  to  you,  sir,"  he  said.  And  followed  by 
the  carriage,  piled  with  sea-chest  and  miscellaneous  bag- 
gage, departed  into  the  mysteriousness  of  deepening  dusk. 

Had  the  young  clergyman  been  willing  to  leave  it  at 
that,  all  might  yet  have  been  well,  his  ministry  at  Deadham 
a  prolonged  and  fruitful  one,  since  his  intentions,  at  least, 
were  excellent.  But,  as  ill-luck  would  have  it,  while  still 
heated  and  sore,  every  feather  on  end,  his  natural  com- 
bativeness  almost  passionately  on  top,  turning  out  in  the 
high-road  he  encountered  Dr.  Cripps,  faring  westward  like 
himself  on  the  way  to  visit  a  patient  at  Lampit.  The  two 
joined  company,  falling  into  a  conversation  the  more  con- 


THROUGH  SHADOWS  TOWARDS  DAWN     391 

Sciential  that  the  increasing  darkness  gave  them  a  sense  of 
isolation  and  consequent  intimacy. 

Of  all  his  neighbours,  the  doctor — a  peppery  disappointed 
man,  struggling  with  a  wide-strewn  country  practice  mainly 
prolific  of  bad  debts,  conscious  of  his  own  inefficiency  and 
perpetually  smarting  under  imagined  injuries  and  slights 
— was  the  very  last  person  to  exercise  a  mollifying  influence 
upon  Sawyer  in  his  existing  angry  humour.  The  latter 
recounted  and  enlarged  upon  the  insults  he  had  just  now 
suffered.  His  hearer  fanned  the  flame  of  indignation  with 
comment  and  innuendo — recognized  Faircloth  from  the 
description,  and  proceeded  to  wash  his  hands  in  scandalous 
insinuation  at  the  young  sea-captain's  expense. 

For  example,  had  not  an  eye  to  business  dictated  the 
sheltering  from  justice  of  those  infant,  apple-stealing  repro- 
bates ?  Their  respective  fathers  were  good  customers  ?  The 
islanders  all  had  the  reputation  of  hard  drinkers — and  an 
innkeeper  hardly  invites  occasion  to  lower  his  receipts. 
The  inn  stood  in  old  Mrs.  Faircloth 's  name,  it  is  true;  but 
the  son  profited,  at  all  events  vicariously,  by  its  prosperity. 
A  swaggering  fellow,  with  an  inordinate  opinion  of  his 
own  ability  and  merits;  but  in  that  he  shared  a  family 
failing.  For  arrogance  and  assumption  the  whole  clan  was 
difficult  to  beat. 

"  You  have  heard  whose  son  this  young  Faircloth  is,  of 
course?  " 

Startled  by  the  question,  and  its  peculiar  implication, 
Reginald  Sawyer  hesitatingly  admitted  his  ignorance. 

The  Grey  House  stands  flush  with  the  road,  and  the  two 
gentlemen  finished  their  conversation  upon  the  doorstep. 
Above  them  a  welcoming  glow  shone  through  the  fanlight ; 
otherwise  its  windows  were  shuttered  and  blank. 

"  This  is  a  matter  of  common  knowledge,"  Dr.  Cripps 
said;  "  but  one  about  which,  for  reasons  of  policy,  or,  more 
truly,  of  snobbery,  it  is  the  fashion  to  keep  silent.  So, 
for  goodness'  sake,  don't  give  me  as  your  authority  if  you 
.should  ever  have  occasion  to  speak  of  it  ' ' 

And  lowering  his  voice  he  mentioned  a  name. 

"  As  like  as  two  peas,"  he  added,  "  when  you  see  them 


392  DEADHAM  HARD 

side  by  side— which,  in  point  of  fact,  you  never  do.  Oh! 
I  promise  you  the  whole  dirty  business  has  been  remarkably 
well  engineered — hush-money,  I  suppose.  Sometimes  I  am 
tempted  to  think  poverty  is  the  only  punishable  sin  in  this 
world.  For  those  who  have  a  good  balance  at  their  bankers 
there  is  always  a  safe  way  out  of  even  the  most  disgraceful 
imbroglios  of  this  sort.  But  I  must  be  moving  on,  Mr. 
Sawyer.  I  sympathize  with  your  annoyance.  You  have 
been  very  offensively  treated.  Good  night." 

The  young  clergyman  remained  planted  on  the  doorstep, 
incapable  of  ringing  the  bell  and  presenting  himself  to  his 
assiduously  attentive  hostesses,  the  Miss  Minetts,  for  the 
moment. 

He  was,  in  truth,  indescribably  shocked.  Deadham  pre- 
sented itself  to  his  mind  as  a  place  accursed,  a  veritable 
sink  of  iniquity.  High  and  low  alike,  its  inhabitants  were 
under  condemnation. — And  he  had  so  enjoyed  his  tea 
with  the  ladies  at  The  Hard.  Had  been  so  nattered  by  their 
civility,  spreading  himself  in  the  handsome  room,  agreeably 
sensible  of  its  books,  pictures,  ornaments,  and  air  of  cul- 
tured leisure. — While  behind  all  that,  as  he  now  learned, 
was  this  glaring  moral  delinquency!  Never  had  he  been 
more  cruelly  deceived.  He  felt  sick  with  disgust.  What 
callousness,  what  hypocrisy! — He  recalled  his  disquieting 
sensations  in  crossing  the  warren.  Was  the  very  soil  of 
this  place  tainted,  exhaling  evil? 

He  made  a  return  upon  himself.  For  what,  after  all, 
was  he  here  for  save  to  let  in  light  and  combat  evil,  to 
bring  home  the  sense  of  sin  to  the  inhabitants  of  this 
place,  convincing  them  of  the  hatefulness  of  the  moral 
slough  in  which  they  so  revoltingly  wallowed.  He  must 
slay  and  spare  not.  He  saw  himself  as  David,  squaring 
up  to  Goliath,  as  Christian  fighting  single-handed  against 
the  emissaries  of  Satan  who  essayed  to  defeat  his  pilgrim- 
age. Yes,  he  would  smite  these  lawbreakers  hip  and  thigh, 
whatever  their  superficial  claims  to  his  respect,  whatever 
their  worldly  position.  He  would  read  them  all  a  lesson 
— that  King  Log,  Canon  Horniblow,  included. 

He  at  once  pitied  and  admired  himself,  not  being  a  close 


THROUGH  SHADOWS  TOWARDS  DAWN    393 

critic  of  his  own  motives ;  telling  himself  he  did  well  to  be 
angry,  while  ignoring  the  element  of  personal  pique  which 
gave  point  and  satisfaction  to  that  anger. 

He  was  silent  and  reserved  with  the  Miss  Minetts  at 
supper;  and  retired  early  to  his  own  room  to  prepare  a 
sermon. 


CHAPTER  III 

BROTHER   AND   SISTER 

UPON  the  Sunday  morning  following,  Damaris  went 
to  the  eleven  o'clock  service  alone.  Miss  Felicia 
Verity  attended  church  at  an  earlier  hour  to-day, 
partly  in  the  interests  of  private  devotion,  partly  in  those 
of  a  person  she  had  warmly  befriended  in  the  past,  and 
wanted  to  befriend  in  the  present — but  with  delicacy,  with 
tact  and  due  consideration  for  the  susceptibilities  of  others. 
She  wished  earnestly  to  effect  a  reconciliation;  but  not  to 
force  it.  To  force  it  was  to  endanger  its  sincerity  and 
permanence.  It  should  seem  to  come  about  lightly,  natu- 
rally. Therefore  did  she  go  out  early  to  perfect  her  plans 
— of  which  more  hereafter — as  well  as  to  perform  her 
religious  duties.  Sir  Charles  Verity  was  from  home,  stay- 
ing with  Colonel  Carteret  for  partridge  shooting,  over  the 
Norfolk  stubble-fields.  The  habit  of  this  annual  visit  had, 
for  the  last  two  seasons,  been  in  abeyance ;  but  now,  with 
his  return  to  The  Hard,  was  pleasantly  revived,  although 
this  autumn,  owing  to  business  connected  with  the  publica- 
tion of  his  book,  the  visit  took  place  a  few  weeks  later 
than  usual. 

Hence  did  Damaris — arrayed  in  a  russet-red  serge  gown, 
black  velvet  collar  and  cuffs  to  its  jacket  of  somewhat 
manly  cut,  and  a  russet-red  upstanding  plume  in  her  close- 
fitting  black  velvet  hat — set  forth  alone  to  church.  This, 
after  redirecting  such  letters  as  had  arrived  for  her  father 
by  the  morning  post.  One  of  them  bore  the  embossed  arms 
of  the  India  Office,  and  signature  of  the,  then,  Secretary  of 
State  for  that  department  in  the  corner  of  the  envelope. 
She  looked  at  it  with  a  measure  of  respect  and  curiosity, 
wondering  as  to  the  purport  of  its  contents.  She  studied 
the  envelope,  turning  it  about  in  the  hope  of  gleaning  en- 

394 


THROUGH  SHADOWS  TOWARDS  DAWN    395 

lightenment  from  its  external  aspect.  Still  wondering, 
slightly  oppressed  even  by  a  persuasion — of  which  she 
could  not  rid  herself — that  it  held  matters  of  no  common 
"moment  closely  affecting  her  father,  she  went  out  of  the 
house,  down  the  sheltered  drive,  and  through  the  entrance 
gates.  Here,  as  she  turned  inland,  the  verve  of  the  clear 
autumn  morning  rushed  on  her,  along  with  a  wild  flurry  of 
falling  leaves  dancing  to  the  breath  of  the  crisp  northerly 
breeze. 

A  couple  of  fine  days,  with  a  hint  of  frost  in  the  valley 
by  night,  after  a  spell  of  soft  mists  and  wet,  sent  the  leaves 
down  in  fluttering  multitudes,  so  that  now  all  trees,  save 
the  oaks  only,  were  bare.  These — by  which  the  road  is, 
just  here,  overhung — still  solidly  clothed  in  copper,  amber 
and — matching  our  maiden's  gown — in  russet-red,  offered 
sturdy  defiance  to  the  weather.  The  sound  of  them,  a  dry 
crowded  rustling,  had  a  certain  note  of  courage  and  faith- 
fulness in  it  which  caused  Damaris  to  wait  awhile  and 
listen ;  yet  a  wistfulness  also,  since  to  her  hearing  a  shudder 
stirred  beneath  its  bravery,  preluding  the  coming  rigours 
of  winter. 

And  that  wistfulness  rather  strangely  enlarged  its  mean- 
ing and  area,  as  the  reiterated  ting,  tang,  tong  of  Deadham's 
church  bells  recalled  the  object  of  her  walk.  For  English 
church  services,  of  the  parochial  variety  such  as  awaited 
her,  had  but  little,  she  feared,  to  give.  Little,  that  is, 
towards  the  reliving  of  those  instants  of  exalted  spiritual 
perception  which  had  been  granted  to  her  at  distant  Avila. 

In  overstrained  and  puritanic  dread  of  idolatory,  the 
English  Church  has  gone  lamentably  far  to  forfeit  its  sacra- 
mental birthright.  It  savours  too  strongly  of  the  school 
and  class-room,  basing  its  appeal  upon  words,  upon  spoken 
expositions,  instructive  no  doubt,  but  cold,  academic.  It 
offers  no  tangible  object  of  worship  to  sight  or  sense.  Its 
so-called  altars  are  empty.  Upon  them  no  sacrifice  is 
offered,  no  presence  abidingly  dwells.  In  its  teaching  the 
communion  of  saints  and  forgiveness  of  sins  are  phrases 
rather  than  living  agencies.  Its  atmosphere  is  self-con- 
scious, its  would-be  solemnity  forced. — This,  in  any  case, 


396  DEADHAM  HARD 

was  how  Damaris  saw  the  whole  matter — though,  let  us 
hasten  to  add,  she  was  modest  enough  to  question  whether 
the  fault  might  not  very  well  be  in  herself  rather 
than  in  our  national  variant  of  the  Christian  Faith.  Many 
sweet,  good  persons — dear  Aunt  Felicia  among  them — ap- 
peared to  find  Anglican  ministrations  altogether  sufficient 
for  their  religious  needs.  But  to  Damaris  those  ministra- 
tions failed  to  bring  any  moment  of  vision,  of  complete 
detachment.  She  must  be  to  blame,  she  supposed — which 
was  discouraging,  a  little  outcasting  and  consequently  sad. 

In  a  somewhat  pensive  spirit  she  therefore,  pursued  her 
way,  until,  where  the  prospect  widened  as  she  reached  the 
village  green,  a  larger  sky  disclosed  itself  flaked  with  light 
cirrus  cloud.  This  glory  of  space,  and  the  daring  northerly 
breeze  blowing  out  from  it,  sent  her  fancy  flying.  It 
beckoned  to  journeyings,  to  far  coasts  and  unknown  seas 
— an  offshore  wind,  filling  the  sails  of  convoys  outward 
bound.  And,  with  the  thought  of  ships  upon  the  sea,  came 
the  thought  of  Darcy  Faircloth,  and  that  with  sharp  revolt 
against  the  many  existing  hindrances  to  his  and  her  inter- 
course. Freedom  seemed  abroad  this  morning.  Even  the 
leaves  declared  for  liberty,  courting  individual  adventure 
upon  the  wings  of  that  daring  wind.  And  this  sense  of 
surrounding  activity  worked  upon  Damaris,  making  her 
doubly  impatient  of  denials  and  arbitrary  restraints.  She 
sent  her  soul  after  Darcy  Faircloth  across  the  waste  of 
waters,  fondly,  almost  fiercely  seeking  him.  But  her  soul 
refused  to  travel,  curiously  turning  homeward  again,  as 
though  aware  not  the  prodigious  fields  of  ocean,  nor  any 
loud-voiced  foreign  port  of  call,  held  knowledge  of  him, 
but  rather  the  immediate  scene,  the  silver-glinting  levels 
of  the  Haven  and  lonely  stone-built  inn. 

Deadham  church,  originally  a  chapelry  of  Marychurch 
Abbey,  crowns  a  green  monticule  in  the  centre  of  Dead- 
ham  village,  backed  by  a  row  of  big  elms. — A  wide,  low- 
roofed  structure,  patched  throughout  the  course  of  cen- 
turies beyond  all  unity  and  precision  of  design;  yet  still 
showing  traces  of  Norman  work  in  the  arch  of  the  belfry 
and  in  the  pillars  supporting  the  rafters  of  the  middle  aisle. 


THROUGH  SHADOWS  TOWARDS  DAWN    397 

At  the  instance  of  a  former  vicar,  the  whole  interior  re- 
ceived a  thick  coat  of  whitewash,  alike  over  plaster  and 
stone.  This,  at  the  time  in  question,  had  been  in  places 
scraped  off,  bringing  to  light  some  mural  paintings  of 
considerable  interest  and  antiquity. 

In  the  chancel,  upon  the  gospel  side,  is  a  finely-carved 
tomb,  with  recumbent  figures  of  an  armoured  knight  and 
richly-robed  lady,  whose  slippered  feet  push  against  the 
effigy  of  a  particularly  alert,  sharp-muzzled  little  hound. 
The  two  front  pews,  in  the  body  of  the  church,  at  the  foot 
of  the  said  tomb,  are  allotted  to  the  owner  and  household 
at  The  Hard.  The  slender,  lively  little  hound  and  the  two 
sculptured  figures  lying,  peaceful  in  death,  for  ever  side 
by  side,  touched  and  captivated  Damaris  from  the  first 
time  she  set  eyes  on  them.  She  reverenced  and  loved  them, 
weaving  endless  stories  about  them  when,  in  the  tedium  of 
prayer  or  over-lengthy  sermon,  her  attention,  all  too  often, 
strayed. 

This  morning  the  three  bells  jangled  altogether  as  she 
reached  the  churchyard  gate.  Then  the  smallest  tolled 
alone,  hurrying  stragglers.  She  was  indeed  late,  the  bulk 
of  the  congregation  already  seated,  the  Canon  at  the  read- 
ing-desk and  Mrs.  Horniblow  wheezing  forth  a  voluntary 
upon  the  harmonium,  when  she  walked  up  the  aisle. 

But,  during  her  brief  passage,  Damaris  could  not  but 
observe  the  largeness  of  the  assembly.  An  uncommon  wave 
of  piety  must  have  swept  over  the  parish  this  morning! 
The  Battyes  and  Taylors  were  present  in  force.  Farmers 
and  tradespeople  mustered  in  impressive  array.  Even  Dr. 
Cripps — by  no  means  a  frequent  churchgoer — and  his  for- 
lorn-looking, red-eyed  little  wife  were  there.  The  Miss 
Minetts  had  a  lady  with  them — a  plump,  short  little  person, 
dressed  with  attempted  fashion,  whose  back  struck  Damaris 
as  quaintly  familiar,  she  catching  a  glimpse  of  it  in  passing. 
Most  surprising  of  all,  William  Jennifer  headed  a  contin- 
gent from  the  Island,  crowding  the  men's  free  seats  to 
right  and  left  of  the  west  door.  An  expectancy,  moreover, 
seemed  to  animate  the  throng.  Then  she  remembered,  the 
new  curate,  Reginald  Sawyer,  had  informed  her  and  Miss 


398  DEADHAM  HARD 

Felicia  two  evenings  ago  when  he  had  called  and  been 
bidden  to  stay  to  tea,  that  he  would  preach  for  the  first 
time  at  the  eleven  o'clock  service.  So  far  he  had  only 
occupied  the  pulpit  on  Sunday  afternoons,  when  a  country 
congregation  is  liable  to  be  both  scanty  and  somnolent. 
To-day  he  would  prove  himself  before  the  heads  of  tribes, 
before  the  notables.  And  Damaris  wished  him  well,  esteem- 
ing him  a  worthy  young  man,  if  somewhat  provincial  and 
superfluously  pompous. 

In  the  servants'  pew  directly  behind,  Mary  and  Mrs. 
Cooper  were  duly  ensconced,  supported  by  Mr.  Patch,  two 
small  male  Patches,  white-collared  and  shining  with  excess 
of  cleanliness,  wedged  in  between  him  and  his  stable  sub- 
ordinate Conyers,  the  groom.  The  Hard  thus  made  a  com- 
mendably  respectable  show,  as  Damaris  reflected  with  satis- 
faction. 

She  stood,  she  knelt,  her  prayer  book  open  upon  the 
carved  margin  of  the  tomb,  the  slender  crossed  legs  and 
paws  of  the  alert  little  marble  dog  serving  as  so  often 
before  for  bookrest.  Canon  Horniblow  boomed  and  droned, 
like  some  unctuous  giant  bumble-bee,  from  the  reading-desk. 
The  choir  intoned  responses  from  the  gallery  with  liberal 
diversity  of  pitch.  And  presently,  alas!  Damaris'  thoughts 
began  to  wander,  making  flitting  excursions  right  and  left. 
For  half-way  through  the  litany  some  belated  worship- 
per arrived,  causing  movement  in  the  men's  free  seats. 
This  oddly  disturbed  her.  Her  mind  flew  again  to  Fair- 
cloth,  and  the  strange  impression  of  her  own  soul's  return 
declaring  this  and  no  other  to  be  his  actual  neighbourhood. 
And  if  it  indeed  were  so? — Damaris  thrust  back  the  emo- 
tions begotten  of  that  question,  as  unpermissibly  stormy  at 
this  time  and  in  this  place. 

She  tried  to  fix  her  thoughts  wholly  upon  the  office.  But, 
all  too  soon  they  sprang  aside  again,  now  circling  about 
the  enigmatic  back  beheld  in  the  Miss  Minetts'  pew.  Of 
whom  did  that  round,  dressy  little  form  remind  her?  Why 
— why — of  Theresa,  of  course.  Not  Theresa,  genius  and 
saint  of  Spanish  Avila;  but  Theresa  Bilson,  her  sometime 
governess-companion  of  doubtfully  amiable  memory.  She 


399 

longed  to  satisfy  herself,  but  could  only  do  so  by  turning 
round  and  looking  squarely — a  manoeuvre  impossible  during 
the  prayers,  but  which  might  be  accomplished  later,  when 
the  congregation  rose  to  sing  the  hymn  before  the  sermon. 

She  must  wait.  And  during  that  waiting  light,  rather 
divertingly,  broke  in  on  her.  For  supposing  her  belief  as 
to  the  lady's  identity  correct,  must  not  dear  Aunt  Felicia 
be  party  to  this  resurrection?  Had  not  she  known,  and 
stolen  forth  this  morning  to  perfect  some  innocent  plot  of 
peace-making  ?  In  furtherance  of  which  she  now  cunningly 
remained  at  home,  thus  leaving  Damaris  free  to  offer  re- 
newal of  favour  or  withhold  it  as  she  pleased.  Was  not 
that  deliciously  characteristic  of  Aunt  Felicia  and  her 
permanent  effort  to  serve  two  masters — to  make  everybody 
happy,  and,  regardless  of  conflicting  interests,  everybody 
else  too  ? — Well,  Damaris  was  ready  to  .fulfil  her  wishes. 
She  bore  Theresa  no  ill-will.  An  inclination  to  grudge 
or  resentment  seemed  to  her  unworthy.  Whatever 
Theresa's  tiresomenesses,  they  were  over  and  done  with, 
surely,  quite  immensely  long  ago. 

The  hymn  given  out  and  the  tune  of  it  played  through, 
the  assembly  scraped  and  rustled  to  its  feet.  Damaris 
standing,  in  height  overtopping  her  neighbours,  discreetly 
turned  her  head.  Let  her  eyes  rest  an  instant,  smiling, 
upon  the  upturned  polished  countenances  of  the  two  small 
Patches — shyly  watching  her — and  then  seek  a  more  distant 
goal.  Yes,  veritably  Theresa  Bilson  in  the  flesh — very  much 
in  the  flesh,  full  of  face  and  plump  of  bosom,  gold-rimmed 
glasses  gleaming,  her  mouth  opened  wide  in  song.  It  was 
a  little  astonishing  to  see  her  so  unchanged.  For  how 
much  had  happened  since  the  day  of  that  choir-treat,  at 
Harchester,  which  marked  her  deposition,  the  day  of 
Damaris'  sleep  in  the  sunshine  and  awakening  in  the 
driving  wet  out  on  the  Bar. — The  day  wherein  so  much 
began,  and  so  much  ended,  slashed  across  and  across  with 
an  extravagance  of  lasting  joy  and  lasting  pain! — In  the 
sense  of  it  all  Damaris  lost  herself  a  little,  becoming  forget- 
ful of  her  existing  situation.  She  looked  past,  over  Theresa 
and  beyond. 


400  DEADHAM  HARD 

At  the  extreme  end  of  the  church,  in  the  last  of  the 
free  seats  where  the  light  from  the  west  door  streamed 
inward,  a  man's  figure  detached  itself  with  singular  dis- 
tinctness from  the  background  of  whitewashed  wall.  He, 
too,  overtopped  his  fellows,  and  that  by  several  inches. 
And  from  the  full  length  of  the  building,  across  the  well- 
filled  benches,  his  glance  sought  and  met  that  of  Damaris, 
and  held  it  in  fearless,  high  security  of  affection  not  to  be 
gainsaid. 

The  nice,  clean-shining  little  Patches,  still  watching  shyly 
out  of  their  brown,  glossy,  mouse-like  eyes,  to  their  ex- 
treme mystification  saw  the  colour  flood  Damaris '  face,  saw 
her  lips  tremble  and  part  as  in  prelude  to  happy  speech. 
Then  saw  her  grow  very  pale,  and,  turning  away,  clutch  at 
the  head  of  the  alert  little  hound.  Mrs.  Cooper  delivered 
herself  of  a  quite  audible  whisper  to  the  effect — ' '  that  Miss 
Damaris  was  took  faint-like,  as  she  feared."  And  Mary 
leaned  forward  over  the  front  of  the  pew  in  quick  anxiety. 
But  our  maiden's  weakness  was  but  passing.  She  straight- 
ened herself,  stood  tall  and  proudly  again,  looking  at  the 
knight  and  his  lady  lying  so  peacefully  side  by  side  upon 
their  marble  couch.  She  gathered  them  into  her  gladness 
— they  somehow  sympathized,  she  felt,  in  her  present  sweet 
and  poignant  joy.  Her  soul  had  known  best,  had  been 
right  in  its  homing — since  Faircloth  was  here — was  here. 

That  sweet,  poignant  joy  flooded  her,  so  that  she  word- 
lessly gave  thanks  and  praise.  He  was  in  life — more,  was 
within  sight  of  her,  hearing  the  same  sounds,  breathing  the 
same  air.  Across  the  short  dividing  space,  spirit  had  em- 
braced spirit.  He  claimed  her. — Had  not  his  will,  indeed, 
far  more  than  any  curiosity  regarding  the  identity  of  poor, 
plump  little  Theresa,  compelled  her  to  look  around? 

She  demanded  nothing  further,  letting  herself  dwell  in 
a  perfection  of  content — without  before  or  after — possible 
only  to  the  pure  in  heart  and  to  the  young. 

The  hymn  concluded,  Damaris  knelt,  while  Reginald 
Sawyer,  having  mounted  into  the  pulpit,  read  the  invoca- 
tion; mechanically  rose  from  her  knees  with  the  rest,  and 
disposed  herself  in  the  inner  corner  of  the  pew,  sitting  side- 


THROUGH  SHADOWS  TOWARDS  DAWN     401' 

ways  so  that  her  left  hand  might  rest  upon  the  carven 
marble  margin  of  the  tomb.  She  liked  touch  of  it  still, 
in  the  quietude  of  her  great  content,  cherishing  a  pretty 
fancy  of  the  knight  and  his  lady 's  sympathy  and  that  also 
of  their  sprightly  little  footstool  dog. 

Otherwise  she  was  deaf  to  outward  things,  deliciously 
oblivious,  wrapped  away  sweetly  within  herself.  Hence 
she  quite  failed  to  notice  how  awkwardly  Sawyer  stumbled, 
treading  on  the  fronts  of  his  long  surplice  when  going  up 
the  pulpit  stairs.  How  he  fumbled  with  his  manuscript  as 
he  flattened  it  out  on  the  cushioned  desk.  Or  how  husky 
was  his  voice,  to  the  point  of  the  opening  sentences  being 
almost  inaudible.  The  young  clergyman  suffered,  indeed, 
so  it  appeared,  from  a  painfully  excessive  fit  of  nervous- 
ness. All  this  she  missed,  not  awakening  from  her  state  of 
blissful  trance  until  the  sermon  had  been  under  way  some 
good  five  to  ten  minutes. 

Her  awakening  even  then  was  gradual.  It  was  also  un- 
pleasant. It  began  in  vague  and  uneasy  suspicion  of 
something  unusual  and  agitating  toward.  In  consciousness 
of  a  hushed  and  strained  attention,  very  foreign  to  the 
customary  placid,  not  to  say  bovine,  indifference  of  the 
ordinary  country  congregation.  The  preacher's  voice  was 
audible  enough  now,  in  good  truth,  though  still  under  in- 
sufficient control.  It  roared,  cracked  upward,  approaching 
a  scream.  Sentences  trod  on  one  another's  heels,  so  rapid 
was  his  delivery;  or  bumped  and  jolted  so  overlaid  was  it 
with  emphasis.  He,  dealt  in  ugly  words,  too — "  lies, 
drunkenness,  theft,  profanity ;  ' '  and  worse  still, ' '  unclean- 
ness,  adultery,  carnal  debauchery."  For  not  venial  sins 
only,  but  mortal  sins  likewise  were  rife  in  Deadham,  as  he 
averred,  matters  of  common  knowledge  and  everyday  oc- 
currence— tolerated  if  not  openly  encouraged,  callously 
winked  at.  The  public  conscience  could  hardly  be  said 
to  exist,  so  indurated  was  it,  so  moribund  through  lack  of 
stimulation  and  through  neglect.  Yet  such  wickedness, 
sooner  or  later,  must  call  down  the  vengeance  of  an  of- 
fended God.  It  would  be  taken  upon  these  lawbreakers. 
Here  or  hereafter  these  evil-livers  would  receive  the  chastise- 


402  DEADHAM  HARD 

ment  their  deeds  invited  and  deserved.  Let  no  man  deceive 
himself.  God  is  just.  He  is  also  very  terrible  in  judgment. 
Hell  yawns  for  the  impenitent. 

Breathless,  he  paused ;  and  a  subdued  sigh,  an  instinctive 
shuffling  of  feet  ran  through  the  assembly. — Yet  these 
were  but  generalities  after  all,  often  heard  before,  when  you 
came  to  think,  though  seldom  so  forcibly  put.  Every  man 
made  liberal  gift  of  such  denunciations  to  his  neighbours, 
rather  than  applied  their  lesson  to  himself.  But  Reginald 
Sawyer  was  merely  gathering  energy,  gathering  courage  for 
more  detailed  assault.  He  felt  nervous  to  the  verge  of 
collapse — a  new  and  really  horrible  experience.  His  head 
was  hot,  his  feet  cold.  The  temptation  simply  and  crudely 
to  give  in,  bundle  down  the  pulpit  stairs  and  bolt,  was 
contemptibly  great.  His  eyesight  played  tricks  on  him. 
Below  there,  in  the  body  of  the  church,  the  rows  of  faces 
ran  together  into  irregular  pink  blots  spread  meaninglessly 
above  the  brown  of  the  oaken  pews,  the  brown,  drab,  and 
black,  too,  of  their  owners'  S.unday  best.  Here  and  there 
a  child's  light  frock  or  white  hat  intruded  upon  the  pre- 
vailing neutral  tints;  as  did,  in  a  startling  manner, 
Damaris  Verity's  russet-red  plume  and  suit. 

Time  and  again,  since  he  began  his  sermon,  had  that 
dash  of  rich  colour  drawn  his  reluctant  attention.  He 
recoiled  from,  oddly  dreaded  it — now  more  than  ever,  since 
to  him  it  rather  mercilessly  focussed  the  subject  and  im- 
pending climax  of  his  denunciatory  address. 

The  pause  began  to  affect  the  waiting  congregation,  which 
stirred  uneasily.  Some  one  coughed.  And  Sawyer  was  a 
sufficiently  practised  speaker  to  know  that,  once  you  lose 
touch  with  an  audience,  it  is  next  to  impossible  success- 
fully to  regain  your  ascendency  over  it.  Unless  he  was 
prepared  to  accept  ignominious  defeat  he  must  brace  him- 
self, or  it  would  be  too  late.  He  abominated  defeat.  There- 
fore, summoning  all  his  native  combativeness,  he  took  his 
own  fear  by  the  throat,  straightened  his  manuscript  upon 
the  desk,  and  vehemently  broke  forth  into  speech. 

— Did  his  hearers  deny  or  doubt  the  truth  of  his  asser- 
tions, suppose  that  he  spoke  at  random,  or  without  realiza- 


THROUGH  SHADOWS  TOWARDS  DAWN     403 

tion  of  the  heavy  responsibility  he  incurred  in  advancing 
such  accusations  ?  They  were  in  error,  so  he  told  them.  He 
advanced  no  accusations  which  he  could  not  justify  by 
examples  chosen  from  among  themselves,  from  among  resi- 
dents in  this  parish.  He  would  be  false  to  his  duty  both  to 
them — his  present  audience — and  to  his  and  their  Creator, 
were  he  to  abstain  from  giving  those  examples  out  of 
respect  of  persons.  Other  occupants  of  this  pulpit  might 
have — he  feared  had — allowed  worldly  considerations  to 
influence  and  silence  them. 

A  nasty  cut  this,  at  the  poor  vicar-canon,  increasingly  a 
prey  to  distracted  fidgets,  sitting  helpless  in  the  chancel. 

But  of  such  pusillanimity,  such  time-serving,  he — 
Reginald  Sawyer — scorned  to  be  guilty.  The  higher  placed 
the  sinner,  the  more  heinous  the  sin. — He  would  deal 
faithfully  with  all,  since  not  only  was  the  salvation  of  each 
one  in  jeopardy,  but  his  own  salvation  was  in  peril  like- 
wise, inasmuch  as,  at  the  dread  Last  Assize,  he  would  be 
required  to  give  account  of  his  stewardship  in  respect  of 
this  sinful  place. 

Thus  far  Damaris  had  listened  in  deepening  distaste. 
Surely  the  young  man  very  much  magnified  his  office,  was 
in  manner  exaggerated,  in  matter  aggressive  and  verbose? 
Notwithstanding  its  attempted  solemnity  and  heat,  his 
sermon  seemed  to  be  conventional,  just  a  "  way  of  talking," 
and  a  conceited  one  at  that.  But,  as  he  proceeded  to  set 
forth  his  promised  examples  of  local  ill-living,  distaste 
passed  into  bewilderment  and  finally  into  a  sense  of  out- 
rage, blank  and  absolute.  He  named  no  names,  and 
wrapped  his  statements  up  in  Biblical  language.  Yet  they 
remained  suggestive  and  significant  enough.  He  spoke, 
surely,  of  those  whose  honour  was  dearest  to  her,  whom 
she  boundlessly  loved.  Under  plea  of  rebuking  vice,  he 
laid  bare  the  secrets,  violated  the  sanctities  of  their  private 
lives.  Yet  was  not  that  incredible  V  All  decencies  of  cus- 
tom and  usage  forbade  it,  stamped  such  disclosure  as  un- 
permissible,  fantastic.  He  must  be  mad,  or  she  herself 
mad,  mishearing,  misconceiving  him. 

"  Adulterous  father,  bastard  son— publican  sheltering 


DEADHAM  HARD 

youthful  offenders  from  healthy  punishment  in  the  interests 
of  personal  gain." — Of  that  last  she  made  nothing,  failed 
to  follow  it.  But  the  rest  ? 

It  was  true,  too.  But  not  as  he  represented  it,  all  its 
tragic  beauty,  all  the  nobleness  which  tempered  and,  in  a 
measure  at  least,  discounted  the  great  wrong  of  it,  stripped 
away — leaving  it  naked,  torn  from  its  setting,  without  con- 
text and  so  without  perspective.  Against  this  not  only  her 
tenderness,  but  sense  of  justice,  passionately  fought.  He 
made  it  monstrous  and,  in  that  far,  untrue,  as  caricature  is 
untrue,  crying  aloud  for  explanation  and  analysis.  Yet 
who  could  explain?  Circumstances  of  time  and  place 
rendered  all  protest  impossible.  Nothing  could  be  done, 
nothing  said.  Thus  her  beloved  persons  were  exposed, 
judged,  condemned  unheard,  without  opportunity  of  de- 
fence. 

And  realizing  this,  realizing  redress  hopelessly  barred, 
she  cowered  down,  her  head  bowed,  almost  to  the  level  of 
the  marble  couch  whereon  the  figures  of  knight  and  lady 
reposed  in  the  high  serenity  of  love  and  death.  Happier 
they  than  she,  poor  child,  for  her  pride  trailed  in  the  dust, 
her  darling  romance  of  brother  and  sister  and  all  the  rare 
pieties  of  her  heart,  defiled  by  a  shameful  publicity,  ex- 
posed for  every  Tom,  Dick  and  Harry  to  paw  over  and 
sneer  at! 

Horror  of  a  crowd,  which  watches  the  infliction  of 
some  signal  disgrace,  tormented  her  imagination,  moreover, 
to  the  temporary  breaking  of  her  spirit.  Whether  that 
crowd  was,  in  the  main,  hostile  or  sympathetic  mattered 
nothing.  The  fact  that  it  silently  sat  there,  silently  ob- 
served, made  every  member  of  it,  for  the  time,  her  enemy. 
Even  the  trusted  servants  just  behind,  comfortable  comely 
Mary,  soft  Mrs.  Cooper,  the  devoted  Patch,  were  hateful 
to  her  as  the  rest.  Their  very  loyalty — which  she  for  no 
instant  doubted — went  only  to  fill  the  cup  of  her  humilia- 
tion to  the  brim. 

Reginald  Sawyer's  voice  continued;  but  what  he  said 
now  she  neither  heard  nor  cared.  Her  martyrdom  could 
hardly  suffer  augmentation,  the  whole  world  seemed  against 


THROUGH  SHADOWS  TOWARDS  DAWN  405 

her,  she  set  apart,  pilloried. — But  not  alone.  Faircloth 
was  set  apart,  pilloried,  also.  And  remembering  this,  her 
courage  revived.  The  horror  of  the  crowd  lifted.  For  her- 
self she  could  not  fight ;  but  for  him  she  could  fight,  with 
strength  and  conviction,  out  of  the  greatness  of  her  love  for 
him,  out  of  her  recognition  that  the  ignominy  inflicted  upon 
him  was  more  bitter,  more  cruel,  than  any  inflicted  upon 
her.  For  those  who  dare,  in  a  moment  the  worst  can  turn 
best. — She  would  make  play  with  the  freedom  which  this 
breach  of  convention,  of  social  reticence,  of  moral  discre- 
tion, conferred  upon  her.  The  preacher  had  gone  far  in 
demolition.  She  would  go  as  far,  and  further,  in  construc- 
tion, in  restitution.  Would  openly  acknowledge  the  bond 
which  joined  Faircloth  to  her  and  to  her  people,  by  openly 
claiming  his  protection  now,  in  this  hour  of  her  disgrace 
and  supreme  dismay.  She  would  offer  no  excuse,  no 
apology.  Only  there  should  be  no  more  attempted  con- 
cealment or  evasion  of  the  truth  on  her  part,  no  furtive- 
ness  in  his  and  her  relation.  Once  and  for  all  she  would 
make  her  declaration,  cry  it  from  the  house-top  in  fearless 
yet  tender  pride. 

Damaris  stood  up,  conspicuous  in  her  red  dress  amid  that 
rather  drab  assembly  as  a  leaping  flame.  She  turned  about, 
fronting  the  perplexed  and  agitated  congregation,  her  head 
carried  high,  her  face  austere  for  all  its  youthful  softness, 
an  heroic  quality,  something,  indeed,  superlative  and 
grandiose  in  her  bearing  and  expression,  causing  a 
shrinking  in  those  who  saw  her  and  a  certain  sense  of 
awe. 

Her  eyes  sought  Faircloth  again.  Found  him,  and  un- 
falteringly spoke  with  him,  bidding  him  claim  her  as  she 
claimed  him,  bidding  him  come.  Which  bidding  he  obeyed ; 
and  that  at  the  same  rather  splendid  level  of  sentiment, 
worthily  sustaining  her  abounding  faith  in  him.  For  a 
touch  of  the  heroic  and  superlative  was  present  in  his  bear- 
ing and  expression,  also,  as  he  came  up  the  church  between 
the  well-filled  pews — these  tenanted,  to  left  and  right,  by 
some  who  figured  in  his  daily  life,  figured  in  his  earliest 
recollections,  by  others,  newcomers,  to  him,  even  by  sight, 


406  DEADHAM  HARD 

barely  known;  yet  each  and  all,  irrespective  of  age,  rank, 
and  position,  affecting  his  outlook  and  mental .  atmosphere 
in  some  particular,  as  every  human  personality  does  and 
must,  with  whom  one's  life,  ever  so  transiently,  is  thrown. 
Had  he  had  time  to  consider  them,  this  cloud  of  witnesses 
might  have  proved  disturbing  even  to  his  masterful  will  and 
steady  nerve.  But  he  had  not  time.  There  was  for  him 
— so  perfectly — the  single  object,  the  one  searching  yet 
lovely  call  to  answer,  the  one  act  to  be  performed. 

Reaching  the  front  pew  upon  the  gospel  side,  Darcy  Fair- 
cloth  took  Damans'  outstretched  hand.  He  looked  her  in 
the  eyes,  his  own  worshipful,  ablaze  at  once  with  a  great 
joy  and  a  great  anger;  and  then  led  her  back,  down  the 
length  of  the  aisle,  through  the  west  door  into  the  liberty ' 
of  the  sunshine  and  the  crisp  northerly  wind  outside. 

Standing  here,  the  houses  and  trees  of  the  village  lay 
below  them.  The  whole  glinting  expanse  of  the  Haven 
was  visible  right  up  to  the  town  of  Marychurch  gathered 
about  its  long-backed  Abbey,  whose  tower,  tall  and  in  effect 
almost  spectral,  showed  against  the  purple  ridges  of  forest 
and  moorland  beyond.  Over  the  salt  marsh  in  the  valley, 
a  flock  of  plovers  dipped  and  wheeled,  their  backs  and 
wide  flapping  wings  black,  till,  in  turning,  their  breasts 
and  undersides  flashed  into  snow  and  pearl. 

And  because  brother  and  sister,  notwithstanding  diversi- 
ties of  upbringing  and  of  station,  were  alike  children  of 
the  open  rather  than  of  cities,  born  to  experiment,  to  travel 
and  to  seafaring  round  this  ever-spinning  globe,  they  in- 
stinctively took  note  of  the  extensive,  keen  though  sun- 
gilded  prospect — before  breaking  silence  and  giving  voice 
to  the  emotion  which  possessed  them — and,  in  so  doing, 
found  refreshment  and  a  brave  cleansing  to  their 
souls. 

Still  holding  Faircloth's  hand,  and  still  silent,  her 
shoulder  touching  his  now  and  again  in  walking,  Damaris 
went  down  the  sloping  path,  hoary  lichen-stained  head-and- 
foot  stones  set  in  the  vivid  churchyard  grass — as  yet  un- 
bleached by  the  cold  of  winter — on  either  side.  The  sense 
of  his  strength,  of  the  fine  unblemished  vigour  of  his  young 


THROUGH  SHADOWS  TOWARDS  DAWN    407 

manhood,  here  close  beside  her — so  strangely  her  posses- 
sion and  portion  of  her  natural  inalienable  heritage — filled 
her  with  confident  security  and  with  a  restful,  wondering 
calm.  So  that  the  shame  publicly  put  on  her  to  shed  its 
bitterness,  her  horror  of  the  watching  crowd  departed, 
fading  out  into  unreality.  Though  still  shaken,  still  quiver- 
ing inwardly  from  the  ordeal  of  the  past  hour,  she  already 
viewed  that  shame  and  horror  as  but  accidents  to  be  lived 
down  and  disregarded,  by  no  means  as  essential  elements 
in  the  adventurous  and  precious  whole.  Presently  they 
would  altogether  lose  their  power  to  wound  and  to  distress 
her,  while  this  freedom  and  the  closer  union,  gained  by 
means  of  them,  continued  immutable  and  fixed. 

It  followed  that,  when  in  opening  the  churchyard  gate 
and  holding  it  back  for  her  to  pass,  Faircloth  perforce  let 
go  her  hand  and,  the  spell  of  contact  severed,  found  himself 
constrained  to  speak  at  last,  saying: 

' '  You  know  you  have  done  a  mighty  splendid,  dangerous 
thing — no  less  than  burned  your  boats — and  that  in  the 
heat  of  generous  impulse,  blind,  perhaps — I  can't  but  fear 
so — to  the  heavy  cost." 

Damaris  could  interrupt  him,  with  quick,  sweet  defiance : 

"  But  there  is  no  cost!  " 

And,  to  drive  home  the  sincerity  of  her  disclaimer,  and 
further  reassure  him,  she  took  his  hand  again  and  held  it 
for  an  instant  close  against  her  bosom,  tears  and  laughter 
together  present  in  her  eyes. 

"Ah!  you  beautiful  dear,  you  beautiful  dear,"  Faircloth 
cried,  brokenly,  as  in  pain,  somewhat  indeed  beside  himself. 
"  Before  God,  I  come  near  blessing  that  blatant  young  fool 
and  pharisee  of  a  parson  since  he  has  brought  me  to 
this.'* 

Then  he  put  her  a  little  way  from  him,  penetrated  by  fear 
lest  the  white  love  which — in  all  honour  and  reverence- 
he  was  bound  to  hold  her  in,  should  flush  ever  so  faintly, 
red. 

"  For,  after  all,  it  is  up  to  me,"  he  said,  more  to  him- 
self than  to  her,  "  to  make  very  sure  there  isn't,  and  never 
— by  God's  mercy — shall  be,  any  cost." 


408  DEADHAM  HARD 

And  with  that — for  the  avoidance  of  the  congregation, 
now  streaming  rather  tumultuously  out  of  church — they 
went  on  across  the  village  green,  hissed  at  by  slow  wad- 
dling, hard-eyed,  most  conceited  geese,  to  the  lane  which 
leads  down  to  the  causeway  and  warren  skirting  the  river- 
bank. 


CHAPTER  IV 

WHEREIN   MISS  FELICIA  VERITY   CONCLUSIVMjT  SHOWS   WHAT 
SPIRIT  SHE  IS  OP 

HER  attraction  consisted  in  her  transparency,  IB 
the  eager  simplicity  with  which  she  cast  her  home- 
made nets  and  set  her  innocuous  springes.  To-day 
Miss  Felicia  was  out  to  wing  the  Angel  of  Peace,  and 
crowd  that  celestial  messenger  into  the  arms  of  Damaris 
and  Theresa  Bilson  collectively  and  severally.  Such  was 
the  major  interest  of  the  hour.  But,  for  Miss  Felicia  the" 
oncoming  of  middle-age  by  no  means  condemned  the  lesser 
pleasures  of  life  to  nullity.  Hence  the  minor  interest  of 
the  hour  centred  in  debate  as  to  whether  or  not  the  ther- 
mometer justified  her  wearing  a  coat  of  dark  blue  silk  and 
cloth,  heavily  trimmed  with  ruchings  and  passementerie, 
reaching  to  her  feet.  A  somewhat  sumptuous  garment  this, 
given  her  by  Sir  Charles  and  Damaris  last  winter  in 
Madrid.  She  fancied  herself  in  it  greatly,  both  for  the 
sake  of  the  dear  donors,  and  because  the  cut  of  it  was 
clever,  disguising  the  over-narrowness  of  her  maypole-like 
figure  and  giving  her  a  becoming  breadth  and  fulness. 

She  decided  in  favour  of  the  coveted  splendour;  and  at 
about  a  quarter-past  twelve  strolled  along  the  carriage-drive 
on  her  way  to  the  goose  green  and  the  village  street.  There, 
or  thereabouts,  unless  her  plot  lamentably  miscarried,  she 
expected  to  meet  her  niece  and  that  niece's  ex-governess- 
companion,  herded  in  amicable  converse  by  the  pinioned 
Angel  of  Peace.  Her  devious  and  discursive  mind  fluttered 
to  and  fro,  meanwhile,  over  a  number  of  but  loosely  con- 
nected subjects. 

Of  precisely  what,  upon  a  certain  memorable  occasion, 
had  taken  place  between  her  brother,  Sir  Charles,  and 

409 


4rlO  DEADHAM  HARD 

j>oor  Theresa — causing  the  latter  to  send  up  urgent  signals 
«f  distress  to  which  she,  Miss  Felicia,  instantly  responded — 
«he  still  was  ignorant.  Theresa  had,  she  feared,  been  just 
a  wee  bit  flighty,  leaving  Damaris  unattended  while  herself 
mildly  gadding.  But  such  dereliction  of  duty  was  insuf- 
ficient to  account  for  the  arbitrary  fashion  in  which  she 
had  been  sent  about  her  business,  literally — the  word  wasn't 
pretty — chucked  out !  Miss  Felicia  always  suspected  there 
must  be  something,  she  would  say  worse — it  sounded  harsh 
— but  something  more  than  merely  that.  Her  interpreta- 
tions of  peculiar  conduct  were  liable  to  run  in  terms  of  the 
heart.  Had  Theresa,  poor  thing,  by  chance  formed  a  hope- 
less attachment? — Hopeless,  of  course,  almost  ludicrously 
sO;  yet  what  more  natural,  more  comprehensible,  Charles 
being  who  and  what  he  was?  Not  that  he  would,  in  the 
faintest  degree,  lend  himself  to  such  misplaced  affection. 
Of  that  he  was  incapable.  The  bare  idea  was  grotesque. 
He,  of  course,  was  guiltless.  But,  assuming  there  was  a 
feeling  on  Theresa's  side,  wasn't  she  equally  guiltless? 
She  could  not  help  being  fascinated. — Thus  Miss  Felicia 
was  bound  to  acquit  both.  Alike  they  left  the  court  with- 
out a  stain  Gn  their  respective  characters. 

Not  for  worlds  would  she  ever  dream  of  worrying  Charles 
by  attempting  to  reintroduce  poor  Theresa  to  his  notice. 
But  with  Damaris  it  was  different.  The  idea  that  any 
persons  of  her  acquaintance  were  at  sixes  and  sevens,  on 
bad  terms,  when,  with  a  little  good  will  on  their  part  and 
tactful  effort  upon  hers,  they  might  be  on  pleasant  ones 
was  to  her  actively  afflicting.  To  drop  an  old  friend,  or 
even  one  no4:  conspicuously  friendly  if  bound  to  you  by 
associations  and  habit,  appeared  to  her  an  offence  against 
corporate  humanity,  an  actual  however  fractional  lowering 
of  the  temperature  of  universal  charity.  The  loss  to  one 
was  a  loss  to  all — in  some  sort.  Therefore  did  she  run  to 
adjust,  to  smooth,  to  palliate. 

Charles  was  away — it  so  neatly  happened — and  Theresa 
Bilson  here,  not,  it  must  be  owned,  altogether  without  Miss 
Felicia's  connivance.  If  darling  Damaris  still  was  pos- 
sessed of  a  hatchet  she  must  clearly  be  given  this  oppor- 


THROUGH  SHADOWS  TOWARDS  DAWN    411 

tunity  to  bury  it.  To  have  that  weapon  safe  underground 
would  be,  from  every  point  of  view,  so  very  much  nicer. 

At  this  point  in  her  meditations  beneath  the  trees  border- 
ing the  carriage  drive,  their  bare  tops  swaying  in  the  breeze 
and  bright  sunshine,  Miss  Felicia  fell  to  contrasting  tne 
present  exhilarating  morning  with  that  dismally  rainy  one, 
just  over  three  years  ago,  when — regardless  of  her  sister, 
Mrs.  Cowden's  remonstrances — she  had  come  here  from 
Paulton  Lacy  in  response  to  Theresa's  signals  of  distress. 
Just  at  the  elbow  of  the  drive,  so  she  remembered,  she  had 
met  a  quite  astonishingly  good-looking  young  man,  brown- 
gold  bearded,  his  sou'wester  and  oilskins  shining  with  wet. 
She  vaguely  recalled  some  talk  about  him  with  her  brother, 
Sir  Charles,  afterwards  during  luncheon. — What  was  it? 
— Oh!  yes,  of  course,  it  was  he  who  had  rescued  Damaris 
when  she  was  lost  out  on  the  Bar,  and  brought  her  home 
down  the  tide-river  by  boat.  She  had  often  wanted  to 
know  more  about  him,  for  he  struck  her  at  the  time  as 
quite  out  of  the  common,  quite  remarkably  attractive.  But 
on  the  only  occasion  since  when  she  had  mentioned  the  sub- 
ject, Damaris  drew  in  her  horns  and  became  curiously  un- 
communicative. It  was  all  connected,  of  course,  with  the 
dear  girl's  illness  and  the  disagreeable  episode  of  Theresa's 
dismissal. — How  all  the  more  satisfactory,  then,  that  the 
Theresa  business,  in  any  case,  was  at  this  very  hour  in 
process  of  being  set  right!  Miss  Felicia  had  advised 
Theresa  how  to  act — to  speak  to  Damaris  quite  naturally 
and  affectionately,  taking  her  goodwill  for  granted. 
Damaris  would  be  charming  to  her,  she  felt  convinced. 

Felicia  Verity  held  the  fronts  of  her  long  blue  coat  to- 
gether, since  the  wind  sported  with  them  rather  roughly, 
and  went  forward  with  her  quick,  wavering  gait. 

It  was  a  pity  Damaris  did  not  marry  she  sometimes  felt. 
Of  course,  Charles  would  miss  her  quite  terribly.  Their  love 
for  one  another  was  so  delightful,  so  really  unique.  On 
his  account  she  was  glad.— And  yet— with  a  sigh,  while  tke 
colour  in  her  thin  cheeks  heightened  a  little — lacking  mar- 
riage a  woman's  life  is  rather  incomplete.  Not  that  she 
herself  had  reason  for  complaint,  with  aU  the  affectioa 


412  DEADHAM  HARD 

showered  upon  her !  The  last  two  years,  in  particular,  had 
been  abundantly  blessed  thanks  to  Charles  and  Damaris. 
She  admired  them,  dear  people,  with  all  her  warm  heart 
and  felt  very  grateful  to  them.  / 

Here  it  should  be  registered,  in  passing,  that  the  resili- 
ence of  Felicia  Verity's  inherent  good-breeding  saved  her 
gratitude  from  any  charge  of  grovelling,  as  it  saved  her 
many  enthusiasms  from  any  charge  of  sloppiness.  Both,  if 
exaggerated,  still  stood  squarely,  even  gallantly  upon  their 
feet. 

Her  mind  switched  back  to  the  ever  fertile  question  of  the 
married  and  the  single  state.  She  often  wondered  why 
Charles  never  espoused  a  second  wife.  He  would  have  liked 
a  son  surely!  But  then,  were  it  possible  to  find  a  fault  in 
him,  it  would  be  that  of  a  little  coldness,  a  little  loftiness 
in  his  attitude  towards  women.  He  was  too  far  above  them 
in  intellect  and  experience,  she  supposed,  and  through  all 
the  remarkable  military  commands  he  had  held,  administra- 
tive posts  he  had  occupied,  quite  to  come  down  to  their 
level.  In  some  ways  Damaris  was  very  like  him — clever, 
lofty  too  at  moments.  Possibly  this  accounted  for  her  ap- 
parent indifference  to  affairs  of  the  heart  and  to  lovers. 
Anyhow,  she  had  ample  time  before  her  still  in  relation  to 
all  that. 

Miss  Felicia  passed  into  the  road.  About  fifty  yards 
distant  she  saw  the  servants — Mary,  Mrs.  Cooper  and  Patch 
— standing  close  together  in  a  quaint,  solemn,  little  bunch. 
The  two  small  Patches  circled  round  the  said  bunch,  pa- 
tiently expectant,  not  being  admitted  evidently  to  whatever 
deliberations  their  elders  and  betters  had  in  hand. 

Felicia  Verity's  relations  with  the  servants  were  in- 
variably excellent.  Yet,  finding  them  in  mufti,  outside  the 
boundaries  of  her  brother's  demesne  thus,  she  was  con- 
scious of  a  certain  modesty,  hesitating  alike  to  intrude  upon 
their  confabulations  and  to  pass  onward  without  a  trifle 
amiable  of  talk.  She  advanced,  smiling,  nodded  to  the 
two  women,  then 

"  A  delicious  day,  isn't  it,  Patch?  "  she  said,  adding, 
for  lack  of  a  more  pertinent  remark — "  What  kind  of 


THROUGH  SHADOWS  TOWARDS  DAWN    413 

sermon  did  the  new  curate,  Mr.  Sawyer,  give  you  ? — A  goed 
one,  I  hope?  " 

A  pause  followed  this  guileless  question,  during  which 
Mary  looked  on  the  ground,  Mrs.  Cooper  murmured:  "  Oh ! 
dear,  oh,  dear!  "  under  her  breath,  and  Patch  swallowed 
visibly  before  finding  voice  to  reply: 

"  One,  I  regret  to  say,  ma'am,  he  never  •Bght  to  have 
preached." 

"  Poor  young  man!  "  she  laughed  it  off.  "  You're  a 
terribly  severe  critic,  I'm  afraid,  Patch.  Probably  he  was 
nervous. ' ' 

"  And  reason  enough.  You  might  think  Satan  himself 
stood  at  his  elbow,  the  wicked  things  he  said." 

This  statement,  coming  from  the  mild  and  cow-like  Mrs. 
Cooper,  caused  Felicia  Verity  the  liveliest  surprise.  She 
glanced  enquiringly  from  one  to  the  other  of  the  little 
group,  reading  constraint  and  hardly  repressed  excitement 
in  the  countenance  of  each.  Their  aspect  and  be- 
haviour struck  her,  in  fact,  as  singular  to  the  point  «f 
alarm. 

"  Mary,"  she  asked,  a  trifle  breathlessly,  "  has  anything 
happened?  Where  is  Miss  Damaris?  " 

"  Hadn't  she  got  back  to  The  Hard,  ma'am,  before  you 
came  out?  " 

"  No — why  should  she?  You  and  the  other  servants 
always  reach  home  first." 

"  Miss  Damaris  went  out  before  the  rest,"  Mrs.  Cooper 
broke  forth  in  dolorous  widowed  accents.  "  And  no  won- 
der, pore  dear  young  lady,  was  it,  Mr.  Patch?  My  heart 
bled  for  her,  ma'am,  that  it  did." 

Miss  Felicia,  gentle  and  eager,  so  pathetically  resembling 
yet  not  resembling  her  famous  brother,  grew  autocratic, 
stern  as  him  almost,  for  once. 

"  And  you  allowed  Miss  Damaris  to  leave  church  alone- 
she  felt  unwell,  I  suppose — none  of  you  accompanied  her? 
I  don't  understand  it  at  all,"  she  said. 

"  Young  Captain  Faircloth  went  out  with  Miss  Damaris. 
She  wished  it,  ma'am,"  Mary  declared,  heated  and  resent- 
ful at  the  unmerited  rebuke.  ' '  She  as  good  as  called  to  him 


414  DEADHAM  HARD 

to  come  and  take  her  out  of  church.  It  wasn't  for  us  to 
interfere,  so  we  held  back." 

"  Captain  Faircloth?  But  this  becomes  more  and  more 
extraordinary !  Who  is  Captain  Faircloth?  " 

"  Ah!  there  you  touch  it,  you  must  excuse  my  saying, 
ma'am."  Mrs.  Cooper  gasped. 

But  at  this  juncture,  Patch,  rising  to  the  height  of  mas- 
culine responsibility,  flung  himself  gallantly — and  how  un- 
willingly— into  the  breach.  He  was  wounded  in  his  respect 
and  respectability  alike,  wounded  for  the  honour  of  the 
family  whom  he  had  so  long  and  faithfully  served.  He 
was  fairly  cut  to  the  quick — while  these  three  females 
merely  darkened  judgment  by  talking  all  at  cross  purposes 
and  all  at  once.  Never  had  the  solid,  honest  coachman 
found  himself  in  a  tighter  or,  for  that  matter,  in  anything 
like  eo  tight  a  place.  But,  looking  in  the  direction  of  the 
village,  black  of  clothing,  heavy  of  walk  and  figure,  he 
espied,  as  he  trusted,  approaching  help. 

"  If  you  please,  ma'am,"  he  said,  touching  his  black 
bowler  as  he  spoke,  ' '  I  see  Canon  Horniblow  coming  along 
the  road.  I  think  it  would  be  more  suitable  for  him  to 
give  you  an  account  of  what  has  passed.  He'll  know  how 
to  put  it  with — with  the  least  unpleasantness  to  all  parties. 
It  isn't  our  place — Mrs.  Cooper's,  Mary's,  or  mine — if 
you'll  pardon  my  making  so  free  with  my  opinion,  to  men- 
tion any  more  of  what's  took  place." 

Felicia  Verity,  now  thoroughly  frightened,  darted  for- 
ward. The  fronts  of  her  blue  coat  again  flew  apart,  and 
that  rich  garment  stood  out  in  a  prodigious  frill  around 
and  behind  her  from  the  waist,  as  she  leaned  on  the  wind, 
almost  running  in  her  agitation  and  haste. 

"  My  dear  Canon,"  she  cried,  "  I  am  in  such  anxiety. 
I  learn  something  has  happened  to  my  niece,  who  I  had 
come  to  meet.  Our  good  servants  are  so  distractingly  mys- 
terious. They  refer  me  to  you.  Pray  relieve  my  uncer- 
tainty and  suspense." 

But,  even  while  she  spoke,  Miss  Felicia's  anxiety  deep- 
ened, for  the  kindly,  easygoing  clergyman  appeared  to  suf- 
fer, like  tke  servants,  from  some  uncommon  shock.  His 


THROUGH  SHADOWS  TOWARDS  DAWN  415 

large  fleshy  nose  and  somewhat  pendulous  cheeks  were  a 
mottled,  purplish  red.  Anger  and  deprecation  struggled 
in  his  glance. 

"  I  was  on  my  way  to  The  Hard,"  he  began,  "  to  express 
my  regrets — offer  my  apologies  would  hardly  be  too  strong 
a  phrase — to  your  niece,  Miss  Verity,  and  to  yourself.  For 
I  felt  compelled,  without  any  delay,  to  dissociate  myself 
from  the  intemperate  procedure  of  my  colleague — of  my 
curate.  He  has  used,  or  rather  misused,  his  official  posi- 
tion, has  grievously  misused  the  privileges  of  the  pulpit — 
the  pulpit  of  our  parish  church — to  attack  the  reputation 
of  private  individuals  and  resuscitate  long-buried  scandals." 

The  speaker  was,  unquestionably,  greatly  distressed. 
Miss  Felicia,  though  more  than  ever  bewildered,  felt  for 
him  warmly.  It  pained  her  excessively  to  observe  how  his 
large  hands  clasped  and  unclasped,  how  his  loose  lips 
worked. 

"  Let  me  assure  you,"  he  went  on,  "  though  I  trust  that 
is  superfluous " 

"  I  am  certain  it  is,  dear  Dr.  Horniblow,"  she  feelingly 
declared. 

1 '  Thanks, ' '  he  replied.  ' '  You  are  most  kind,  most  in- 
dulgent to  me,  Miss  Verity. — Superfluous,  I  would  say, 
to  assure  you  that  my  colleague  adopted  this  deplorable 
course  without  my  knowledge  or  sanction.  He  sprang  it  «n 
me  like  a  bomb-shell.  As  a  Christian  my  conscience,  ae  a 
gentleman  my  sense  of  fair  play,  condemns  his  action." 

"  Yes — yes — I  sympathize. — I  am  convinced  you  are  in- 
capable of  any  indiscretion,  any  unkindness,  in  the  pulpk 
or  out  of  it.  But  why,  my  dear  Canon,  apologize  to  us? 
How  can  this  unfortunate  sermon  affect  me  or  my  nie«e? 
How  can  the  scandal  you  hint  at  in  any  respect  coneern 
us?  " 

"  Because,"  he  began,  that  mottling  of  purple  increas- 
ingly deforming  his  amiable  face. — And  there  words  failed 
him,  incontinently  he  stuck.  He  detested  strong  language, 
but — heavens  and  earth — how  could  he  put  it  to  her,  as  she 
gazed  at  him  with  startled,  candid  eyes,  innocent  of  gaile 
as  those  of  a  babe?  Only  too  certainly  no  word  had 


416  DEADHAM  HARD 

reached  her  of  the  truth.  The  good  man  groaned  in  spirit 
for,  like  Patch,  he  found  himself  in  a  place  of  quite  un- 
exampled tightness,  and  with  no  hope  of  shunting  the  im- 
mense discomfort  of  it  on  to  alien  shoulders  such  as  had 
been  granted  the  happier  Patch. 

"  Because,"  he  began  again,  only  to  suffer  renewed 
agony  of  wordlessness.  In  desperation  he  shifted  his 
ground. 

"  You  have  heard,  perhaps,  that  your  niece,  Miss 
Damaris,  left  the  church  before  the  conclusion  of  the 
sermon?  I  do  not  blame  her  " 

He  waved  a  fatherly  hand.    Miss  Verity  acquiesced. 

"  Or  rather  was  led  out  by — by  Captain  Faircloth — a 
young  officer  in  the  mercantile  marine,  whose  abilities  and 
successful  advance  in  his  profession  this  village  has  every 
reason  to  respect." 

He  broke  off. 

"  Let  us  walk  on  towards  The  Hard.  Pray  let  us  walk 
on. — Has  no  rumour  ever  reached  you,  Miss  Verity,  re- 
garding this  young  man?  " 

The  wildest  ideas  flitted  through  Miss  Felicia's  brain. 
— The  figure  in  shiny  oilsfiins — yet  preposterous,  surely? — 
After  all,  an  affair  of  the  heart — misplaced  affection — 
Damaris? — Did  this  account  for  the  apparent  indifference? 
— How  intensely  interesting;  yet  how  unwise. — How — but 
she  must  keep  her  own  counsel.  The  wind,  now  at  her 
back,  glued  the  blue  coat  inconveniently  against  and  even 
between  her  legs,  unceremoniously  whisking  her  forward. 

"  Rumours — oh,  none,"  she  protested. 

"  None?  "  he  echoed  despairingly.  "  Pray  let  us  walk 
on." 

A  foolish  urgency  on  his  part  this,  she  felt,  since  she  was 
already  almost  on  the  run. 

"  None  that,  by  birth,  Captain  Faircloth  is  somewhat 
nearly  related  to  your  family — to  your — your  brother,  Sir 
Charles,  in  fact?  " 

There,  the  incubus  was  off  his  straining  chest  at  last! 
He  felt  easier,  capable  of  manipulating  the  situation  to 
some  extent,  smoothing  down  its  rather  terrible  ascerbities. 


THROUGH  SHADOWS  TOWARDS  DAWN     417 

"  Such  connections  do,"  he  hastened  to  add,  "  as  we 
must  regretfully  admit,  exist  even  in  the  highest,  the  most 
exalted  circles.  Irregularities  of  youth,  doubtlessly  deeply 
repented  of.  I  repeat  sins  of  youth,  at  which  only  the 
sinless — and  they,  alas !  to  the  shame  of  my  sex  are  lament- 
ably few — can  be  qualified  to  cast  a  stone. — You,  you 
follow  me!  " 

"  You  mean  me  to  understand  " 

"  Yes,  yes — exactly  so — to  understand  that  this  young 
man  is  reputed  to  be  " 

"  Thank  you,  my  dear  Canon — thank  you,"  Felicia 
Verity  here  interposed  quickly,  yet  with  much  simple  dig- 
nity, for  on  a  sudden  she  became  singularly  unflurried  and 
composed. 

1 '  I  do,  I  believe,  follow  you, ' '  she  continued. — ' '  You 
have  discharged  your  difficult  mission  with  a  delicacy  and 
consideration  for  which  I  am  grateful;  but  I  am  unequal 
to  discussing  the  subject  in  further  detail  just  now. — To 
me,  you  know,  my  brother  is  above  criticism.  Whatever 
incidents  may — may  belong  to  former  years,  I  accept  with- 
out cavil  or  question,  in  silence — dear  Dr.  Horniblow — 
in  silence.  His  wishes  upon  this  matter — should  he  care 
to  confide  them  to  me — and  those  of  my  niece,  will  dictate 
my  conduct  to — towards  my  nephew,  Captain  Paircloth. 
— Believe  me,  in  all  sincerity,  I  thank  you.  I  am  very 
much  indebted  to  you  for  the  information  you  have  com- 
municated to  me.  It  simplifies  my  position.  And  now," 
she  gave  him  her  hand,  "  will  you  pardon  my  asking  you 
to  leave  me?  " 

Walking  slowly — for  he  felt  played  out,  pretty  thoroughly 
done  for,  as  he  put  it,  and  beat — back  to  the  vicarage  and 
his  belated  Sunday  dinner: — 

"  And  of  such  are  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven,"  James 
Horniblow  said  to  himself — perhaps  truly. 

He  also  said  other  things,  distinctly  other  things,  in  which 
occurred  the  name  of  Reginald  Sawyer  whose  days  as 
curate  of  Deadham  were  numbered.  If  he  did  not  resign 
voluntarily,  well  then,  pressure  must,  very  certainly,  be 
employed  to  make  him  resign. 


418  DEADHAM  HARD 

Meanwhile  that  blue-coated,  virginal  member  of  the 
Kingdom  of  Heaven  sped  homeward  at  the  top  of  her 
speed.  She  was  conscious  of  immense  upheaval.  Never 
had  she  felt  so  alive,  so  on  the  spot.  The  portals  of  highest 
drama  swung  wide  before  her.  She  hastened  to  enter  and 
pour  forth  the  abounding  treasures  of  her  sympathy  at  the 
feet  of  the  actors  in  this  most  marvellous  piece.  That  her 
own  part  in  it  must  be  insignificant,  probably  not  even  a 
speaking  one,  troubled  her  not  the  least.  She  was  out  for 
them,  not  for  herself.  It  was,  also,  characteristic  of  Miss 
Felicia  that  she  felt  in  nowise  shocked.  Not  the  ethical, 
still  less  the  social  aspects  of  the  drama  affected  her,  but 
only  its  human  ones.  These  dear  people  had  suffered,  and 
she  hadn't  known  it.  They  suffered  still.  She  enclosed 
them  in  arms  of  compassion. — If  to  the  pure  all  things  are 
pure,  Felicia  Verity's  purity  at  this  juncture  radiantly 
stood  the  test.  And  that,  not  through  puritanical  shutting 
of  the  eyes  or  juggling  with  fact.  As  she  declared  to  Canon 
Horniblow,  she  accepted  the  incident  without  question  or 
cavil — for  her  brother.  For  herself,  any  possibility  of 
stepping  off  the  narrow  path  of  virtue,  and  exploring  the 
alluring,  fragrant  thickets  disposed  to  left  of  it  and  to 
right,  had  never,  ever  so  distantly,  occurred  to  her. 

She  arrived  at  The  Hard  with  a  bright  colour  and  beat- 
ing heart.  Crossed  the  hall  and  waited  at  the  drawing- 
room  door.  A  man's  voice  was  audible  within,  low-toned 
and  grave,  but  very  pleasant.  It  reminded  her  curiously 
of  Charles — Charles  long  ago  on  leave  from  India,  lighten- 
ing the  heavy  conventionalities  of  Canton  Magna  with 
his  brilliant,  enigmatic,  and — to  her — all  too  fugitive 
presence.  Harriet  had  never  really  appreciated  Charles 
— though  she  was  dazzled  by  his  fame  at  intervals — didn't 
really  appreciate  him  to  this  day.  Well,  the  loss  was  hers 
and  the  gain  indubitably  Felicia's,  since  the  elder  sister's 
obtuseness  had  left  the  younger  sister  a  free  field. — At< 
thought  of  which  Felicia  softly  laughed. 

Again  she  listened  to  the  man's  voice — her  brother 
Charles's  delightful  young  voice.  It  brought  back  the 
glamour  of  her  girlhood,  of  other  voices  which  had  mingled 


THROUGH  SHADOWS  TOWARDS  DAWN     419 

with  his,  of  dances,  picnics,  cricket  matches,  days  with  the 
hounds.  She  felt  strangely  moved,  transported;  also 
strangely  shy — so  that  she  debated  retirement.  Did  not, 
of  course,  retire,  but  went  into  the  drawing-room  with  a 
gentle  rush,  a  dart  between  the  stumpy  pillars. 

"  I  hoped  that  I  should  find  you  both,"  she  said. 
"  Yes,"  to  Damaris'  solemn  and  enquiring  eyes — "  I  hap- 
pened to  meet  our  good,  kind  Canon  and  have  a  little 
conversation  with  him.  I  hope  "—to  Faircloth — "  you 
and  I  may  come  to  know  one  another  better,  know  one 
another  as  friends.  You  are  not  going? — No,  indeed,  you 
must  stay  to  luncheon.  It  would  grieve  me — and  I  think 
would  grieve  my  brother  Charles  also,  if  you  refused  to 
break  bread  in  this  house." 


CHAPTER  V 

DEALING    WITH    EMBLEMS,    OMENS    AND    DEMONSTRATIONS 

DEADHAM  resembled  most  country  parishes  in  this, 
that,  while  revelling  in  internal  dissensions,  when 
attacked    from    without    its    inhabitants    promptly 
scrapped  every  vendetta  and,  for  the  time  being,  stood  back 
to  back  against  the  world. 

As  one  consequence  of  such  parochial  solidarity,  the  vil- 
lage gentry  set  in  a  steady  stream  towards  The  Hard  on 
the  Monday  afternoon  following  the  historic  Sunday  al- 
ready chronicled.  Commander  and  Mrs.  Battye  called. 
Captain  and  Mrs.  Taylor  called,  bringing  with  them  their 
daughter  Louisa,  a  tight-lipped,  well  instructed  High  School 
mistress,  of  whom  her  parents  stood — one  couldn't  but 
notice  it — most  wholesomely  in  awe.  As  is  the  youthful 
cuckoo  in  the  nest  of  the  hedge  sparrow,  so  was  Louisa 
Taylor  to  the  authors  of  her  being. — Mrs.  Horniblow  called 
also,  flanked  by  her  two  girls,  May  and  Doris — plain,  thick- 
set, energetic,  well-meaning  young  persons,  whom  their 
shrewd  mother  loved,  sheltered,  rallied,  and  cherished,  while 
perfectly  aware  of  their  limitations  as  to  beauty  and  to 
brains.  Immediately  behind  her  slipped  in  Mrs.  Cripps. 
The  doctor  abstained,  conscious  of  having  put  a  match  to 
the  fuse  which  had  exploded  yesterday's  astounding  homi- 
letic  torpedo.  The  whole  affair  irritated  him  to  the  point 
of  detestable  ill-temper.  Still,  if  only  to  throw  dust  in 
the  public  eye,  the  house  of  Cripps  must  be  represented. 
He  therefore  deputed  the  job — like  so  many  another  un- 
grateful one — to  his  forlorn-looking  and  red-eyed  spouse. 

This  vote  of  confidence,  if  somewhat  crudely  proposed 
and  seconded,  was  still  so  evidently  sincere  and  kindly 
meant  that  Damaris  and  Miss  Felicia  felt  constrained  to 
accept  it  in  good  part. 

420 


THROUGH  SHADOWS  TOWARDS  DAWN     421 

Conversation  ran  upon  the  weather,  the  crops,  the  migra- 
tory wild  fowl  now  peopling  the  Haven,  the  Royal  Family 
—invariably  a  favourite  topic  this,  in  genteel  circles 
furthest  removed  from  the  throne — in  anecdotes  of  servants 
and  of  pets  interspersed  with  protests  against  the  rise  in 
butcher  Cleave 's  prices,  the  dullness  of  the  newspapers  and 
the  surprising  scarcity  of  eggs. — Ran  on  any  and  every 
subject,  in  short,  save  that  of  sermons  preached  by  curates 
enamoured  of  the  Decalogue. 

Alone — saving  and  excepting  Dr.  Cripps — did  the  Miss 
Minetts  fail  to  put  in  an  appearance.  This  of  necessity, 
since  had  not  they,  figuratively  speaking,  warmed  the  viper 
in  their  bosoms,  cradled  the  assassin  upon  their  hearth? 
They  were  further  handicapped,  in  respect  of  any  demon- 
stration, by  the  fact  of  Theresa  Bilson's  presence  in  their 
midst.  Owing  to  the  general  combustion,  Miss  Felicia  and 
the  Peace  Angel's  joint  mission  had  gone  by  the  wall. 
Theresa  was  still  an  exile  from  The  Hard,  and  doomed  to 
remain  so  as  the  event  proved.  With  that  remarkable 
power — not  uncommon  in  her  sex — of  transmuting  fact, 
granted  the  healing  hand  of  time,  from  defeat  to  personal 
advantage,  she  had  converted  her  repulse  by  Sir  Charles 
Verity  into  a  legend  of  quite  flattering  quality.  She  had 
left  The  Hard  because — But 

"  She  must  not  be  asked  to  give  chapter  and  verse.  The 
position  had  been  extremely  delicate.  Even  now  she  could 
barely  speak  of  it — she  had  gone  through  too  much.  To  be 
more  explicit  " — she  bridled — "  would  trench  upon  the 
immodest,  almost.  But  just  this  she  could  say — she  with- 
drew from  The  Hard  three  years  ago,  because  she  saw 
withdrawal  would  be  best  for  others.  Their  peace  of  mind 
had  been  her  object." 

The  above  guarded  confidences  the  Miss  Minetts,  hanging 
upon  her  lips,  received  with  devout  admiration  and  fully 
believed.  And,  the  best  of  it  was,  Theresa  had  come  by 
now,  thanks  to  frequent  rehearsal,  fully  to  believe  this 
yersion  herself.  At  the  present  juncture  it  had  its  con- 
renience,  since  she  could  declare  her  allegiance  to  her 
former  employer  unimpaired.  Thereby  was  she  at  liberty 


422  DEADHAM  HARD 

to  join  in  the  local  condemnation  of  Reginald  Sawyer  and 
his  sermon.  She  did  so  with  an  assumption  of  elegant,  if 
slightly  hysterical,  omniscience.  This  was  not  without  its 
practical  side.  She  regretted  her  inability  to  meet  him  at 
meals.  In  consequence  the  Miss  Minetts  proposed  he  should 
be  served  in  his  own  sitting-room,  until  such  time  as  it 
suited  him  to  find  another  place  of  residence  than  the 
Grey  House.  For  their  allegiance  went  on  all  fours  with 
Theresa's.  It  was  also  unimpaired.  Propriety  had  been 
outraged  on  every  hand;  matters,  heretofore  deemed  un- 
mentionable, rushed  into  the  forefront  of  knowledge  and 
conversation;  yet  never  had  they  actually  enjoyed  them- 
selves so  greatly.  The  sense  of  being  a  storm  centre — inas- 
much as  they  harboured  the  viper  assassin — produced  in 
them  an  unexampled  militancy.  Latent  sex-antagonism 
revealed  itself.  The  man,  by  common  consent  was  down ; 
and,  being  down,  the  Miss  Minetts  jumped  on  him,  pounded 
him,  if  terms  so  vulgar  are  permissible  in  respect  for  ladies 
so  refined.  For  every  sin  of  omission,  committed  against 
their  womanhood  by  the  members  of  his  sex,  they  made 
him  scapegoat — unconsciously  it  is  true,  but  effectively 
none  the  less.  From  being  his  slaves  they  became 
his  tormentors.  Never  was  young  fellow  more  taken 
aback.  Such  revulsions  of  human  feeling  are  instruc- 
tive— deplorable  or  diverting  according  as  you  view 
it. 

Meanwhile  that  portion  of  the  local  gentry  aforesaid, 
whom  awkward  personal  predicament — as  in  the  case  of 
Dr.  Cripps  and  the  Miss  Minetts — did  not  preclude  from 
visiting  The  Hard,  having  called  early  on  Monday  afternoon 
also  left  early,  being  anxious  to  prove  their  civility  of 
purest  water,  untainted  by  self-seeking,  by  ulterior  greed 
of  tea  and  cakes.  It  followed  that  Damaris  found  herself 
relieved  of  their  somewhat  embarrassed,  though  kindly  and 
well-intentioned,  presence  before  sunset.  And  of  this  she 
was  glad,  since  the  afternoon  had  been  fruitful  of  interests 
far  more  intimate  and  vital  in  character. 

While  Captain  and  Mrs.  Taylor,  with  their  highly  su- 
perior offspring  Louisa,  still  held  the  floor,  Damaris  re- 


THROUGH  SHADOWS  TOWARDS  DAWN     423 

ceived  a  telegram  from  her  father  announcing  a  change 
of  plans  involving  his  immediate  return. 

"  Send  to  meet  the  seven-thirty  at  Marychurch,"  so  the 
pink  paper  instructed  her.  "  Carteret  comes  with  me. 
When  we  arrive  will  explain." 

On  reception  of  the  above,  her  first  thought  was  of  the 
letter  forwarded  yesterday  from  the  India  Office,  bearing 
the  signature  of  the  Secretary  of  State.  And  close  on  the 
heels  of  that  thought,  looking  over  its  shoulder,  indeed,  in 
the  effort — which  she  resisted — to  claim  priority,  was  the 
thought  of  the  dear  man  with  the  blue  eyes  about  to  be  a 
guest,  once  again,  under  this  roof.  This  gave  her  a  little 
thrill,  a  little  gasp,  wrapping  her  away  to  the  borders  of 
sad  inattention  to  Louisa  Taylor's  somewhat  academic 
discourse. — The  girl's  English  was  altogether  too  gram- 
matical for  entire  good-breeding.  In  that  how  very  far 
away  from  Carteret 's! — Damaris  tried  to  range  herself 
with  present  company.  But  the  man  with  the  blue  eyes 
indubitably  held  the  centre  of  the  stage.  She  wore  the 
pearls  to-day  he  gave  her  at  St.  Augustin.  In  what  spirit 
did  he  come? — She  hoped  in  the  earlier  one,  that  of  the 
time  when  she  so  completely  trusted  him.  For  his  counsel, 
dared  she  claim  it  in  that  earlier  spirit,  would  be  of  in- 
estimable value  just  now.  She  so  badly  needed  someone 
in  authority  to  advise  with  as  to  the  events  of  yesterday, 
both  in  their  malign  and  their  beneficent  aspects.  Aunt 
Felicia  had  risen  to  the  height  of  her  capacity — dear  thing, 
had  been  exquisite ;  but  she  would  obey  orders  rather  than 
issue  them.  Her  office  was  not  to  lead,  but  rather  to  be 
led.  And  that  the  events  of  yesterday  opened  a  new  phase 
of  her  own  and  Faireloth's  relation  to  one  another  ap- 
peared beyond  dispute.  Where  exactly  did  the  curve  of 
duty  towards  her  father  touch  that  relation,  run  parallel 
with  or  intersect  it?  She  felt  perplexed. 

After  tea,  Miss  Felicia  having  vanished  on  some  affair  of 
her  own — Damaris  asked  no  question,  but  supposed  it  not 
unconnected  with  the  now,  since  Sir  Charles  was  about  to 
return,  permanently  exiled  Theresa — our  maiden  went  up- 
stairs, in  the  tender  evening  light,  on  domestic  cares  in- 


424  DEADHAM  HARD 

tent.  She  wished  to  assure  herself  that  the  chintz  bedroom, 
opening  off  the  main  landing  and  overlooking  the  lawn  and 
front  garden,  had  been  duly  made  ready  for  Colonel 
Carteret.  She  took  a  somewhat  wistful  pleasure  in  silently 
ministering  to  his  possible  small  needs  in  the  matter  of 
sufficient  wealth  of  towels,  candles  and  soap.  She  length- 
ened out  the  process.  Lingered,  rearranged  the  ornaments 
upon  the  mantelpiece,  the  bunch  of  sweet-leafed  geranium 
— as  yet  unshrivelled  by  frost — and  belated  roses,  placed  in 
a  vase  upon  the  toilet-table. 

In  so  doing  she  caught  sight  of  her  reflection  in  the 
Aiirror,  and  paused,  studying  it.  Her  looks  were  not  at 
their  best.  She  was  wan. — That  might,  in  part,  be  owing 
to  the  waning  light.  Around  her  eyes  were  dark  circles, 
making  them  appear  unnaturally  large  and  solemn.  So 
yesterday's  emotions  had  left  their  mark!  The  nervous 
strain  had  been  considerable  and  she  showed  it.  One  can- 
not drink  the  cup  of  shame,  however  undeserved,  with 
physical  any  more  than  with  mental  impunity.  She  still 
felt  a  little  shattered,  but  hoped  neither  her  father  nor 
Carteret  would  remark  her  plight.  If  the  whole  affair  of 
yesterday  could,  in  its  objectionable  aspects,  be  kept  from 
Sir  Charles's  knowledge  she  would  be  infinitely  glad.  And 
why  shouldn't  it  be?  Without  permission,  Aunt  Felicia 
certainly  would  not  tell.  Neither  would  the  servants.  The 
parish  had  given  testimony,  this  afternoon,  both  of  its  good 
faith  and  its  discretion. 

So  much  for  the  objectionable  side  of  the  matter.  But 
there  was  another  side,  far  from  objectionable,  beautiful  in 
sentiment  and  in  promise.  And,  still  viewing  her  reflection 
in  the  glass,  she  saw  her  eyes  lose  their  solemnity,  lighten 
with  a  smile  her  lips  repeated.  This  was  where  Carteret 's 
advice  would  be  of  so  great  value.  How  much  ought  she 
to  tell  her  father  of  all  that? 

For,  from  amidst  the  shame,  the  anger,  the  strain  and 
effort,  Faircloth  showed,  to  her  thinking,  triumphant,  satis- 
fying alike  to  her  affection  and  her  taste.  In  no  respect 
would  she  have  asked  him  other  than  he  was. 

She  moved  across  to  the  window,  and  sat  down  there, 


THROUGH  SHADOWS  TOWARDS  DAWN    425 

looking  out  over  the  garden  and  battery,  with  its  little 
cannons,  to  the  Bar,  and  sea  beyond  which  melted  into  the 
dim  primrose  and  silver  of  the  horizon.  Such  colour  as 
existed  was  soft,  soothing,  the  colour  of  a  world  of  dreams, 
of  subdued  and  voiceless  fancies.  It  was  harmonious,  rest- 
ful as  an  accompaniment  to  vision. — Damaris  let  it  lap 
against  her  consciousness,  encircling,  supporting  this,  as 
water  laps,  also  encircling  and  supporting — while  caressing, 
mysteriously  whispering  against  a  boat's  side — a  boat  lying 
at  its  moorings,  swinging  gently  upon  an  even  keel. — And 
her  vision  was  of  Faircloth,  exclusively  of  him,  just 
now. 

For  he  had  stayed  to  luncheon  yesterday.  A  meal,  to 
him  in  a  sense  sacred,  as  being  the  first  eaten  by  him  in  his 
father's  house.  So  graciously  invited,  how,  indeed,  could 
he  do  otherwise  than  stay?  And,  the  initial  strangeness, 
the  inherent  wonder  of  that  sacred  character  wearing  off, 
he  found  voice  and  talked  not  without  eloquence.  Talked 
of  his  proper  element,  the  sea,  gaining  ease  and  self-pos- 
session from  the  magnitude  and  manifold  enchantments  of 
his  theme. 

To  him,  as  to  all  true-born  sailor-men — so  Damaris 
divined — the  world  is  made  of  water,  with  but  accident  of 
land.  Impeding,  inconvenient  accident  at  that,  too  often 
blocking  the  passage  across  or  through,  and  constraining 
you  to  steer  a  foolishly,  really  quite  inordinately  divergent 
course.  Under  this  obstructive  head  the  two  Americas 
offend  direfully,  sprawling  their  united  strength  wellnigh 
from  pole  to  pole.  The  piercing  of  their  central  isthmus 
promised  some  mitigation  of  this  impertinence  of  emergent 
matter;  though  whether  in  his,  the  speaker's  lifetime,  re- 
mained— so  he  took  it — open  to  doubt.  The  "  roaring 
forties,"  and  grim  blizzard-ridden  Fuegian  Straits  would 
long  continue,  as  he  feared,  to  bar  the  way  to  the  Pacific. 
Not  that  his  personal  fancy  favoured  West  so  much  as 
East.  Not  into  the  sunset  but  into  the  sunrising  did  he  love 
to  sail  some  goodly  black-hulled  ship. — And  as  he  talked, 
more  especially  at  his  mention  of  this  eastward  voyaging, 
those  manifold  enchantments  of  his  calling  stirred  Damaris' 


426  DEADHAM  HARD 

imagination,  making  her  eyes  bright  as  the  fabled  eyes  of 
danger,  and  fathomless  as  well. 

But  the  best  came  later.  For,  Mary  having  served  coffee, 
Miss  Felicia,  making  an  excuse  of  letters  to  be  written,  with 
pretty  tact  left  them  to  themselves.  And  Faircloth,  return- 
ing after  closing  the  door  behind  her  fluttering,  gently 
eager  figure,  paused  behind  Damaris'  chair. — Jacobean, 
cane-panelled,  with  high-carved  back  and  arms  to  it. 
Thomas  Clarkson  Verity  had  unquestionably  a  nice  taste 
in  furniture. — The  young  sea-captain  rested  his  right  hand 
on  the  dark  terminal  scroll-work,  and  bending  down,  laid 
his  left  hand  upon  Damaris'  hand,  covering  it  as  it  lay  on 
the  white  damask  table-cloth. 

"  Have  I  done  what  I  should,  and  left  undone  what  I 
shouldn't  do,  my  dear  and  lovely  sister?  "  he  asked  her, 
half-laughing  and  half-abashed.  "It's  a  tricky  business 
being  here,  you  know — to  put  it  no  higher  than  that.  And 
it  might,  with  truth,  be  put  far  higher.  I  get  so  horribly 
fearful  of  letting  you  down  in  any  way — however  trivial 
— before  other  people.  I  balance  on  a  knife-edge  all  the 
while." 

"  Have  no  silly  fears  of  that  sort,"  Damaris  said  quickly, 
a  trifle  distressed. 

For  it  plucked  at  her  sisterly  pride  in  him  that  he  should, 
even  by  implication,  debase  himself,  noting  inequality  of 
station  between  himself  and  her.  She  held  the  worldly 
aspects  of  the  matter  in  contempt.  They  angered  her,  so 
that  she  impulsively  banished  reserve.  Leaning  forward, 
she  bent  her  head,  putting  her  lips  to  the  image  of  the 
flying  sea-bird — which  so  intrigued  her  loving  curiosity — 
and  those  three  letters  tattooed  in  blue  and  crimson  upon 
the  back  of  his  hand. 

"  There — there  " — she  murmured,  as  soothing  a  child — 
"  does  this  convince  you?  " 

But  here  broke  off,  her  heart  contracting  with  a  spasm  of 
wondering  tenderness.  For  under  that  pressure  of  her 
lips  she  felt  his  flesh  quiver  and  start.  She  looked  up  at 
the  handsome  bearded  face,  so  close  above  her,  in  swift 
enquiry,  the  notion — as  once  before — troubling  her  that,  in 


THROUGH  SHADOWS  TOWARDS  DAWN     427 

touching  this  quaint  stigmata,  she  inflicted  bodily  suf- 
fering. And,  as  on  that  earlier  occasion,  asked  the  ques- 
tion: 

"Ah!  but  have  I  hurt  you?  " 

Faircloth  shook  his  head,  smiling.  Words  failed  him 
just  then  and  he  went  pale  beneath  the  overlay  of  clear 
brown  sunburn. 

"  Then  tell  me  what  this  stands  for?  "  she  said,  being 
herself  strangely  moved,  and  desirous  to  lower  the  tempera- 
ture of  her  own  emotion — possibly  of  his  as  well.  "  Tell 
me  what  it  means." 

"  Just  a  boy's  fear  and  a  boy's  superstition — a  bit  mor- 
bid, both  of  them,  perhaps — that  is  as  I  see  things  now. 
For  I  hold  one  should  leave  one's  body  as  it  pleased  the 
Almighty  to  make  it,  unblemished  by  semi-savage  decora- 
tions which  won't  wash  off." 

Faircloth  moved  away,  drew  his  chair  up  nearer  the 
head  of  the  table,  the  corner  between  them,  so  that  his 
hand  could  if  desire  prompted  again  find  hers. 

"  By  the  way,  I'm  so  glad  you  don't  wear  ear-rings, 
Damaris,"  he  said.  "  They  belong  to  the  semi-savage 
order  of  decoration.  I  hate  them.  You  never  will  wear 
them?  Promise  me  that." 

And  she  had  promised,  somewhat  diverted  by  his  tone  of 
authority  and  of  insistence. 

"  But  about  this?  "  she  asked  him,  indicating  the  blue 
and  crimson  symbol. 

"  As  I  say,  fruit  of  fear  and  superstition — a  pretty  pair 
in  which  to  put  one's  faith!  All  the  same,  they  went  far 
to  save  my  life,  I  fancy — for  which  I  thank  them  mightily 
being  here,  with  you,  to-day." 

And  he  told  her — softening  the  uglier  details,  as  unfit 
for  a  gently-nurtured  woman's  hearing — a  brutal  story 
of  the  sea.  Of  a  sailing  ship  becalmed  in  tropic  waters, 
waiting,  through  long  blistering  days  and  breathless 
sweltering  nights,  for  the  breeze  which  wouldn't  come — a 
floating  hell,  between  glaring  skies  and  glaring  ocean— and 
of  bullyings,  indignities  and  torments  devised  by  a  brain 
diseased  by  drink. 


428  DEADHAM  HARD 

"  But  was  there  no  one  to  interfere,  no  one  to  protect 
you?  "  Damaris  cried,  aghast. 

' '  A  man 's  master  in  his  own  ship, ' '  Faircloth  answered. 
"  And  short  of  mutiny  there's  no  redress.  Neither  officers 
nor  men  had  a  stomach  for  mutiny.  They  were  a  poor, 
cowed  lot.  Till  this  drunken  madness  came  on  him  he  had 
been  easy  going  enough.  They  supposed,  when  it  passed, 
he'd  be  so  again.  And  then  as  he  reserved  his  special  at- 
tentions for  me,  they  were  willing  to  grin  and  bear  it — 
or  rather  let  me  bear  it,  just  stupidly  letting  things  go. 
It  was  my  first  long  voyage.  I'd  been  lucky  in  my  skippers 
so  far,  and  was  a  bit  soft  still.  A  bit  conceited,  I  don't 
doubt,  as  well.  He  swore  he'd  break  my  spirit — for  my 
own  good,  of  course — and  he  came  near  succeeding. — But 
Damaris,  Damaris,  dear,  don't  take  it  to  heart  so.  What 
does  it  matter?  It  did  me  no  lasting  harm,  and  was  all 
over  and  done  with — would  have  been  forgotten  too,  but 
for  the  rather  silly  sign  of  it — years  and  years  ago.  Let 
us  talk  no  more  about  it." 

"  Oh,  no! — go  on — please,  go  on,"  she  brokenly  prayed 
him. 

So  he  told  her,  further,  how  at  Singapore,  the  outward 
voyage  at  last  ended,  he  was  tempted  to  desert;  or,  better 
still,  put  an  end,  once  and  for  all,  to  the  whole  black  busi- 
ness of  living.  And  how,  meditating  on  the  methods  of 
such  drastic  deliverance — sitting  in  the  palm-shaded 
verandah  of  a  fly-blown  little  eating-house,  kept  by  a 
monkey-faced,  squint-eyed  Japanese — he  happened  to  pick 
up  a  Calcutta  newspaper.  He  read  its  columns  mechani- 
cally, without  interest  or  understanding,  his  mind  still 
working  on  methods  of  death,  when  a  name  leapt  at  him 
weighted  with  personal  meaning. 

"  It  hit  me,"  Faircloth  said,  "  full  between  the  eyes, 
knocking  the  cry-baby  stuff  out  of  me,  and  knocking  stuff 
of  very  different  order  in.  For  I  wanted  something 
stronger  than  mother-love — precious  though  that  is — to 
brace  me  up  and  put  some  spunk  into  me  just  then. — Sir 
Charles  was  campaigning  in  Afghanistan,  and  this  Cal- 
cutta paper  sang  his  praises  to  a  rousing  tune.  Lamented 


THROUGH  SHADOWS  TOWARDS  DAWN  429 

the  loss  of  him  to  the  Indian  Government,  and  the  lack 
of  appreciation  and  support  of  him  at  home  which  in- 
duced him  to  take  foreign  service.  Can't  you  imagine  how 
all  this  about  a  great  soldier,  whose  blood  after  all  ran  in 
my  veins,  pulled  me  clean  up  out  of  the  slime,  where  suicide 
tempted  the  soft  side  of  me,  into  another  world?— A  sane 
world,  in  which  a  man  can  make  good,  if  only  he's  pluck 
to  hold  on.— Yes,  he  saved  me;  or  at  all  events  roused 
the  spirit  in  me  which  makes  for  salvation,  and  which  that 
drunken  brute  had  almost  killed.  But,  because  I  was  only 
a  boy  as  yet,  with  a  boy's  queer  instincts  and  extrava- 
gancies, I  made  the  monkey-faced,  Japanese  eating-house 
keeper — who  added  artistic  tattooing  to  other  and  less  rep- 
utable ways  of  piling  up  a  fortune — fix  the  sea-bird,  for 
faith  in  my  profession — and  those  three  initials  of  my  own 
name  and  a  name  not  altogether  my  own,  right  here. — 
Fix  them  for  remembrance  and  for  a  warning  of  which 
I  could  never  get  free.  Always  I  should  be  forced  to  see 
it.  And  others  must  see  it  too.  Through  it  my  identity 
— short  of  mutilation — was  indestructibly  established. 
From  that  identity,  henceforward,  there  wasn't  any  pos- 
sible running  away." 

Faircloth  had  ended  on  a  note  of  exultation,  calmly 
sounded  yet  profound. 

And  upon  that  final  note  Damaris  dwelt  now,  sitting  on 
the  chintz-covered  window-seat  of  the  room  which  Carteret 
would  to-night  inhabit.  She  went  through  the  cruel  story 
again,  while  the  transparent  twilight  drew  its  elfin  veil 
over  all  things,  outdoor  and  in. 

The  crescent  moon,  a  slender,  upright  wisp  of  a  thing, 
climbed  the  southern  sky.  And  Damaris '  soul  was  strangely 
satisfied,  for  the  story,  if  cruel,  was  one  of  restitution  and 
the  healing  of  a  wrong.  To  her  father — his  father — the 
boy  had  turned  in  that  bad  hour,  which  very  perfectly  made 
for  peace  between  them.  The  curve  of  her  duty  to  the  one, 
as  she  now  apprehended,  in  nowise  cut  across  or  deflected 
the  curve  of  her  duty  towards  the  other.  The  two  were  the 
same,  were  one.  And  this,  somehow,  some  day,  when  time 
and  sentiment  offered  opportunity  for  such  disclosure,  she 


430  DEADHAM  HARD 

must  let  her  father  know.  She  must  repeat  to  him  the 
story  of  the  eating-house  and  its  monkey-faced  proprietor — 
of  questionable  reputation — away  in  tropic  Singapore.  It 
could  hardly  fail  to  appeal  to  him  if  rightly  told.  About  the 
events  and  vulgar  publicity  of  yesterday  nothing  need  be 
said.  About  this,  within  careful  limits,  much;  and  that, 
with,  as  she  believed,  happiest  result.  She  had  succeeded  in 
bringing  father  and  son  together  in  the  first  instance.  Now, 
with  this  pathetic  story  as  lever,  might  she  not  hope  to  bring 
them  into  closer,  more  permanent  union  ?  Why  should  not 
Faircloth,  in  future,  come  and  go,  if  not  as  an  acknowledged 
son,  yet  as  acknowledged  and  welcome  friend,  of  the  house  ? 
A  consummation  this,  to  her,  delightful  and  reasonable  as 
just.  For  had  not  the  young  man  passed  muster,  and  that 
triumphantly — she  again  told  herself — in  small  things  as 
well  as  great,  in  things  of  social  usage  and  habit,  those 
"  little  foxes  "  which,  as  between  class  and  class,  do  so 
deplorably  and  disastrously  "  spoil  the  grapes?  " 

Therefore  she  began  to  invent  ingenious  speeches  to 
Carteret  and  to  her  father.  Hatch  ingenious  schemes  and 
pretty  plots — in  the  style  of  dear  Aunt  Felicia  almost! 
— Was  that  lady's  peacemaking  passion  infectious,  by 
chance?  And  supposing  it  were,  hadn't  it  very  charming 
and  praiseworthy  turns  to  it — witness  Felicia's  rather  noble 
gathering  in  and  acceptance  of  Faircloth  yesterday. 

Arriving  at  which  engaging  conclusion,  Damaris  felt 
minded  to  commune  for  a  space  with  the  restful  loveliness 
of  the  twilight,  before  going  downstairs  again  and  seeking 
more  definite  employment  of  books  or  needlework.  She 
raised  the  window-sash  and,  kneeling  on  the  chintz-covered 
cushioned  window-seat,  leaned  out. 

The  gardeners  to-day  had  rooted  up  the  geraniums  and 
dug  over  the  empty  flower  beds,  just  below,  preparatory  to 
planting  them  with  bulbs  for  spring  blossoming.  The  keen, 
pungent  scent  of  the  newly-turned  earth  hung  in  the 
humid  air,  as,  mingling  with  it — a  less  agreeable  incense — 
did  the  reek  of  the  mud-flats.  On  the  right  the  twin  ilex 
trees  formed  a  mass  of  soft  imponderable  gloom.  Above 
and  behind  them  the  sky  was  like  smoked  crystal.  The 


THROUGH  SHADOWS  TOWARDS  DAWN    431 

lawn  lay  open  and  vacant.  Upon  it  nothing  hopped  or 
crept.  The  garden  birds  had  eaten  their  suppers  long 
since,  and  sought  snug  bosky  perching  places  for  the  night. 
Even  the  unsleeping  sea  was  silent,  the  tide  low  and  wave- 
less,  no  more  than  a  languid  ripple  far  out  upon  the  shelv- 
ing sands.  All  dwelt  in  calm,  in  a  brooding  tranquillity 
which  might  be  felt. 

Damaris  listened  to  the  silence,  until  her  ears  began  to 
suspect  its  sincerity.  Sounds  were  there  in  plenty,  she 
believed,  were  her  hearing  sharp  enough  to  detect  them. 
They  naughtily  played  hide-and-seek  with  her,  striking  a 
chord  too  deep  or  too  thinly  acute  for  human  sense.  Sights 
were  there  too,  had  her  eyes  but  a  cat's  or  an  owl's  keener 
faculty  of  seeing.  Behind  the  tranquillity  she  apprehended 
movement  and  action  employing  a  medium,  obeying  im- 
pulses, to  us  unknown.  Restfulness  fled  away,  but,  in  place 
of  it,  interest  grew.  If  she  concentrated  her  attention  and 
listened  more  carefully,  she  should  hear;  looked  more 
steadily,  she  should  see. 

Just  because  she  was  tired,  a  little  shattered  still  and 
spent,  did  this  predominance  of  outward  nature  draw  her, 
imposing  itself.  It  beckoned  her ;  and,  through  passing  de- 
ficiency of  will,  she  followed  its  beckoning,  making  no 
serious  effort  to  resist.  "With  the  consequence  she  presently 
did  hear  sounds,  but  sounds  surely  real  and  recognizable 
enough. 

Coming  from  the  shore  eastwards,  below  the  sea-wall 
along  the  river  frontage,  ponies  walked,  or  rather  floun- 
dered, fetlock  deep  in  blown  sand — a  whole  drove  of  them 
to  judge  by  the  confused  and  muffled  trampling  of  their 
many  hoofs.  The  drop  from  the  top  of  the  sea-wall  to  the 
beach  was  too  great,  and  the  space  between  the  foot  of  the 
wall  and  the  river-bank  and  breakwater  too  confined,  for 
her  to  see  the  animals,  even  had  not  oncoming  darkness 
rendered  all  objects  increasingly  ill-defined. 

But  the  confused  trampling  instead  of  keeping  along  the 
foreshore,  as  in  all  reason  it  should,  now  came  up  and  over 
the  sea-wall,  on  to  the  battery,  into  the  garden,  heading 
towards  the  house.  Damaris  strained  her  eyes  through  the 


432  DEADHAM  HARD 

tranquil  obscurity,  seeking  visible  cause  of  this  advancing 
commotion,  but  without  effect.  Yet  all  the  while,  as  her 
hearing  clearly  testified,  the  unseen  ponies  hustled  one 
another,  plunging,  shying  away  from  the  swish  and  crack 
of  a  long-thonged  whip.  One  stumbled  and  rolled  over  in 
the  sand. — For  although  the  mob  was  half-way  up  the 
lawn  by  now,  the  shuffling,  sliding  sand  stayed  always  with 
them. — After  a  nasty  struggle  it  got  on  to  its  feet,  totter- 
ing forward  under  savage  blows,  dead  lame.  Another,  a 
laggard,  fell  into  its  tracks,  and  lay  there  foundered,  rat- 
tling in  the  throat. 

By  this  time  the  foremost  of  the  drove  came  abreast 
the  house  front,  where  Sir  Charles  Verity's  three  ground- 
floor  rooms,  with  the  corridor  behind  them,  ranged  out 
from  the  main  building.  The  many-paned  semicircular 
windows  of  these  rooms  dimly  glistened,  below  their  fan- 
shaped,  slated  roofs.  The  crowding  scurry  of  scared,  over- 
driven animals  was  so  indisputable  that  Damaris  expected 
a  universal  smashing  of  glass.  But  the  sound  of  many 
hoofs,  still  muted  by  sliding  sand,  passed  straight  on  into 
and  through  the  house  as  though  no  obstacle  intervened 
barring  progress. 

The  many-paned  windows  remained  intact,  undemolished,v. 
dimly  glistening  beneath  their  slated  roofs.  The  garden 
stretched  vacant,  as  before,  right  away  to  the  battery,  in 
the  elusive  twilight,  a  sky  of  smoked  crystal — through 
which  stars  began  to  show  faintly,  points  of  cold  blurred 
light — above  the  gloom  of  the  ilex  trees  to  the  west,  and 
in  the  south,  above  the  indistinguishable  sea,  the  slender 
moon  hanging  upright,  silver  and  sickle-shaped. 

Thus  far  Damaris'  entire  consciousness  had  resided  in 
and  been  limited  to  her  auditory  sense ;  concentration  being 
too  absorbed  and  intense  to  allow  room  for  reasoning,  still 
less  for  scepticism  or  even  astonishment.  She  had  watched 
with  her  ears — as  the  blind  watch — desperate  to  interpret, 
instant  by  instant,  inch  by  inch,  this  reconstructed  tragedy 
of  long-dead  man  and  long-dead  beast.  There  had  been  no 
thinking  round  the  central  interest,  no  attempted  reading 
of  its  bearing  upon  normal  events.  Mind  and  imagination 


THROUGH  SHADOWS  TOWARDS  DAWN     433 

were  fascinated  by  it  to  the  exclusion  of  all  else.  It  acted  as 
an  extravagant  dream  acts,  abrogating  all  known  laws  of 
cause  and  effect,  giving  logic  and  science  the  lie,  negativing 
probability,  making  the  untrue  true,  the  impossible  con- 
vincingly manifest. 

Not,  indeed,  until  she  beheld  Mary  Fisher,  deep-bosomed 
and  comely,  in  black  gown,  white  apron  and  cap,  moving 
within  those  rooms  downstairs — still  echoing,  as  they  surely 
must,  to  that  tumultuous  and  rather  ghastly  equine  transit 
— did  the  extraordinary  character  of  the  occurrence  flash 
into  fullness  of  relief. 

Mary,  meanwhile,  set  down  her  flat  candlestick  upon  the 
big  writing-table  in  Sir  Charles's  study,  lighted  lamps  and 
drew  blinds  and  curtains.  Went  into  the  bedroom  next 
door  and  dressing-room  beyond,  methodically  performing 
the  evening  ritual  of  ' '  shutting  up. ' '  Her  shadow  marched 
with  her,  as  though  mockingly  assisting  in  her  operations, 
now  crouching,  now  leaping  ahead,  blotting  a  ceiling,  ex- 
tending itself  upon  a  wall  space.  Other  shadows,  thrown 
by  the  furniture,  came  forth  and  leapt  also,  pranced, 
skipping  back  into  hiding  as  the  candle-light  shifted  and 
passed.  But  save  this  indirect  admission  of  the  immaterial 
and  grotesque,  everything  showed  reassuringly  ordinary, 
the  woman  herself  unconcerned,  ignorant  of  disturbance. 

Damaris  rose  from  her  kneeling  posture  upon  the  window- 
seat  and,  standing,  lowered  the  sash.  Once  was  enough. 
It  was  no  longer  incumbent  upon  her  to  listen  or  to  look. 
If  these  ghostly  phenomena  were  repeated  they  could  con- 
vey nothing  more  to  her,  nothing  fresh.  They  had  delivered 
their  message — one  addressed  wholly  and  solely  to  herself, 
so  she  judged,  since  Mary  had  so  conspicuously  no  sus- 
picion of  it. 

Our  maiden's  lips  were  dry.  Her  heart  beat  in  her 
ears.  Yet  she  was  in  no  degree  unnerved.  Seldom  indeed 
had  she  been  more  mistress  of  her  powers,  self-realized 
and  vigilant.  Nor  did  she  feel  tired  any  more,  infirm  of 
will  and  spent.  Rather  was  she  consciously  resolute  to 
encounter  and  withstand  events — of  what  order  she  did 
not  know  as  yet  but  events  of  moment  and  far-reaching 


434  DEADHAM  HARD 

result,  already  on  the  road,  journeying  toward  her  hot- 
foot, They  were  designed  to  test  and  try  her.  Would 
do  their  utmost  to  overwhelm,  to  submerge  her,  were  she 
weak.  But  she  didn't  intend  them  to  submerge  her.  She 
bade  weakness  quit,  all  her  young  courage  rising  in  arms. 

The  marvellous  things  she  just  now  heard,  so  nearly 
saw — for  it  had  come  very  near  to  seeing,  hadn't? — were 
avant  couriers  of  these  same  journeying  events,  their  ap- 
pointed prelude.  She  could  explain  neither  how  nor  why 
— but,  very  certainly,  somehow.  Nor  could  she  explain 
the  relation — if  any — coupling  together  the  said  marvels 
heard  and  the  events.  Nevertheless,  she  knew  the  former 
rode  ahead,  whether  in  malignity  or  mercy,  to  forewarn 
her.  This  place,  The  Hard,  in  virtue  of  its  numerous 
vicissitudes  of  office  and  of  ownership,  of  the  memories  and 
traditions  which  it  harboured,  both  sinister,  amiable, 
erudite,  passionate,  was  singularly  sentient,  replete  with 
influences.  In  times  of  strain  and  stress  the  normal  wears 
thin,  and  such  lurking  influences  are  released.  They  break 
bounds,  shouting — to  such  as  have  the  psychic  genius — 
convincing  testimony  of  their  existence. 

All  this  Damaris  perceived,  standing  in  the  middle  of  the 
room  while  the  silver  crescent  moon  looked  in  at  her.  The 
stillness  once  again  was  absolute.  The  dusk,  save  where  the 
windows  made  pale  squares  upon  the  carpet,  thick.  The 
four-post  bed,  gay  enough  by  day  with  hangings  and 
valences  patterned  in  roses  on  a  yellow  ground,  looked 
cavernous.  Carteret  would  lie  under  its  black  canopy  to- 
night if 

"  If  all  goes  well." 

Damaris  said  the  words  aloud,  her  thought  becoming 
personal  and  articulate. 

Once  before  she  had  heard  the  smugglers '  ponies,  waiting 
in  this  same  room.  Waiting  at  the  open  window  to  catch 
the  first  rumble  of  the  wheels  of  a  returning  carriage.  Her 
poor  dear  Nannie,  Sarah  Watson,  was  returning  home  after 
a  summer  holiday  spent  with  her  own  people  in  the  north. 
And  Damaris,  younger  then  by  nearly  five  years,  had 
listened  impatiently,  ready  to  skirmish  down  into  the  front 


THROUGH  SHADOWS  TOWARDS  DAWN     435 

hall— directly  the  carriage  turned  the  elbow  of  the  drive 
—and  enclose  her  faithful  nurse  and  foster-mother  in  arms 
of  childlike  love.  But  destiny  ruled  otherwise.  In  vain 
she  waited.  Sarah  Watson  returned  no  more,  death  having 
elected  to  take  her  rather  horribly  to  himself  some  hours 
previously  amid  the  flaming  wreckage  of  a  derailed  ex- 
press. 

What  did  this  second  hearing  presage?  A  like  vain 
waiting  and  disclosure  of  death-dealing  accident?  Not- 
withstanding her  attitude  of  high  resolution,  the  question 
challenged  Damaris  in  sardonic  fashion  from  beneath  the 
black  canopy  of  the  great  bed.  Her  hand  went  up  to  the 
string  of  pearls  which,  on  a  sudden,  grew  heavy  about  her 
throat. 

'  But  not — not — pray  God/ the  dear  man  with  the  blue 
eyes,"  she  cried. 

She  was  glad  to  be  alone,  in  the  encompassing  semi- 
dark,  for  a  warm  wave  of  emotion  swept  over  her,  an 
ardour  hardly  of  the  spiritual  sort.  Had  she  deceived  her- 
self? Was  she,  in  truth,  desirous  Carteret  should  approach 
her  solely  according  to  that  earlier  manner,  in  which  she 
so  simply  trusted  him  ?  Did  she  hail  his  coming  as  that  of 
a  wise  counsellor  merely — or 

But  here  Mary — still  pursuing  the  time-honoured  ritual 
of  shutting  up — entered  candle  in  hand,  the  landing  show- 
ing brightly  lit  behind  her. 

"  Dear  heart  alive!  "  she  exclaimed,  "  whoever 's  that? 
You,  Miss  Damaris?  Alone  here  in  the  dark.  You  did 
make  me  jump.  But  there,"  she  added,  repentant  of  her 
unceremonious  exclamation,  "  I  don't  know  what  possesses 
us  all  to-night.  The  least  thing  seems  to  make  you  jump. 
Mrs.  Cooper's  all  of  a  twitter,  and  Laura — silly  girl — is 
almost  as  bad.  I  suppose  it's  the  weather  being  so  quiet 
after  yesterday's  gale.  For  my  own  part  I  always  do  like 
a  wind  about.  It  seems  company,  particularly  these  long 
evenings  if  you're  called  on  to  go  round  the  house  by 
yourself. ' ' 

All  of  which  amounted  to  an  admission,  as  Damaris  was 
not  slow  to  detect.  She  was  still  under  the  empire  of 


436  DEADHAM  HARD 

emotion.  The  abrupt  intrusion  affected  her.  She,  too, 
needed  to  carry  off  the  situation. 

"  Poor  Mary,"  she  said,  "  you  have  been  frightened — 
by  what  ?  Did  you  hear  anything  you  could  not  account  for 
when  you  were  down  in  the  library  just  now?  " 

The  answer  came  after  a  pause,  as  though  the  speaker 
were  suspicious,  slightly  unwilling  to  commit  herself. 

"  No,  Miss  Damaris,  not  in  Sir  Charles's  rooms  or  in 
the  west  wing  either.  Whatever  unaccountable  noises  there 
ever  is  belong  to  this  old  part  of  the  house." 

She  set  her  candlestick  on  the  dressing-table,  and  went 
to  each  window  in  turn,  drawing  blinds  down  and  curtains 
across.  So  doing  she  continued  to  talk,  moving  to  and 
fro  meanwhile  with  a  firm,  light  tread. 

"  Not  that  I  pay  much  attention  to  such  things  myself. 
I  don't  hold  it's  right.  It's  my  opinion  there's  no  sort 
of  nonsense  you  can't  drive  yourself  into  believing  once 
you  let  ideas  get  a  root  in  you.  I've  seen  too  much  of 
Mrs.  Cooper  giving  away  like  that.  The  two  winters  you 
and  Sir  Charles  was  abroad  I'd  a  proper  upset  with  her — 
though  we  are  good  friends — more  than  once.  After  sun- 
down she  was  enough  to  terrify  you  out  of  your  life — 
wouldn't  go  here  and  wouldn't  go  there  for  fear  of  she 
didn't  know  what.  Tempting  Providence,  I  call  it,  and 
spoke  to  her  quite  sharp.  If  ever  I  wanted  to  go  over  to 
spend  an  hour  or  two  with  father  and  mother  in  Mary- 
church,  I  was  bound  to  ask  Mrs.  Patch  and  the  children 
to  come  in  and  keep  her  company.  There's  no  sense  in 
putting  yourself  into  such  a  state.  It  makes  you  a  trouble 
to  yourself  and  everybody  else.  And  in  the  end,  a  thousand 
to  one  if  anything  comes  of  all  the  turmoil  and  fuss — Mrs. 
Cooper,  to  be  only  fair  to  her,  when  she's  in  a  reasonable 
humour,  allows  as  much." 

Mary  stepped  across  to  the  bed  and  doubled  back  the 
quilt,  preparatory  to  turning  down  the  fine  linen  sheet. 
She  felt  she  had  extracted  herself  from  a  somewhat  in- 
vidious position  with  flying  colours;  and,  in  the  process, 
had  administered  timely  advice.  For  it  wasn't  suitable 
Miss  Damaris  should  be  moping  alone  upstairs  at  odd 


THROUGH  SHADOWS  TOWARDS  DAWN     437 

times  like  this.  It  all  came  of  yesterday's  upset. — Her 
righteous  anger  blazed  against  the  clerical  culprit.  In  that 
connection  there  was  other  matter  of  which  she  craved  to 
deliver  herself — refreshing  items  of  local  gossip,  sweet 
as  honey  to  the  mouth  did  she  but  dare  retail  them.  She' 
balanced  the  question  this  way  and  that.  Would  satis- 
faction outweigh  offence,  or  offence  satisfaction,  on  the 
part  of  Miss  Damaris?  You  could  not  be  sure  how  she'd 
take  things — quite.  And  yet  she  ought  to  know,  for  the 
affair  certainly  placed  Captain  Faircloth  in  a  pleasant 
light.  Only  one  who  was  every  inch  a  gentleman  would 
behave  so  handsomely  as  he  had. 

She  stretched  across  the  bed  to  smooth  the  slightly 
wrinkled  surface  of  the  sheet.  This  gymnastic  feat  neces- 
sitated the  averting  of  her  face  and  turning  of  her  back. 

"  There's  a  fine  tale  going  round  of  how  the  Island 
lads — wild  young  fellows  ready  for  any  pranks — served 
Mr.  Sawyer,  the  curate,"  she  began.  "  They  say  William 
Jennifer  put  them  up  to  it,  having  a  grudge  against  him 
for  trying  to  get  his  youngest  boy  taken  up  for  stealing 
apples  last  week.  They  planned  to  give  him  a  ducking  in 
the  pool  just  above  the  ferry,  where  the  water's  so  deep 
under  the  bank.  And  if  Captain  Faircloth  hadn't  hap- 
pened to  come  along,  for  certain  they'd  have  made  Mr. 
Sawyer  swim  for  it.  Mr.  Patch  hears  they  handled  him 
ever  so  rough,  tore  his  coat,  and  were  on  the  very  tick  of 
pitching  him  in.  But  Captain  Faircloth  would  not  suffer 
it.  He  took  a  very  high  line  with  them,  it  is  said.  And 
not  content  with  getting  Mr.  Sawyer  away,  walked  with 
him  as  far  as  the  Grey  House  to  protect  him  from  any 
further  interference." 

She  gave  the  pillows  sundry  judicious  strokings  and 
pats. 

"  I  hope  Mr.  Sawyer's  properly  thankful,  for  it  isn't 
many  that  would  have  shown  him  so  much  leniency  as 
that." 

She  would  have  enjoyed  labouring  the  point.  But  com- 
ment appeared  to  her,  under  the  circumstances,  to  trench 
on  impertinence.  Facts  spoke  for  themselves.  She  re- 


438  DEADHAM  HARD 

strained  herself,  fetched  her  candlestick  from  the  dressing- 
table,  and  stood  by  the  open  door,  thereby  enjoining  her 
young  lady's  exit. 

Thus  far  Damaris  maintained  silence,  but  in  passing 
out  on  to  the  landing,  she  said — "  Thank  you.  I  am  glad 
to  know  what  has  happened." 

Encouraged  by  which  acknowledgment,  the  excellent 
woman  ventured  further  advice. 

"  And  now,  miss,  you  must  please  just  lie  down  on  the 
schoolroom  sofa  and  get  a  little  sleep  before  the  gentle- 
men and  Mr.  Hordle  arrive  back.  There  is  a  good  two 
hours  to  wait  yet,  and  I'll  call  you  in  plenty  of  time  for  you 
to  dress.  You  don't  look  altogether  yourself,  miss.  Too 
much  talking  with  all  that  host  of  callers.  You  are  properly 
fagged  out.  I'll  get  Mrs.  Cooper  to  beat  up  an  egg  for 
you  in  a  tumbler  of  hot  milk,  with  a  tablespoonful  of 
sherry  and  just  a  pinch  of  sugar  in  it.  That  will  get  your 
circulation  right." 


CHAPTER  VI 


WHICH  homely  programme  being  duly  executed, 
worked  restorative  wonders.  Matter,  in  the  sub- 
limated form  of  egg-flip,  acted  upon  mind  bene- 
ficially through  the  functions  of  a  healthy,  if  weary,  young 
body.  Our  maiden  slept,  to  dream  not  of  ghostly  ponies 
or  other  uncomfortably  discarnate  creatures;  but  of  Darcy 
Faircloth  in  his  pretty  piece  of  Quixotism,  rescuing  a 
minister  of  the  Church  of  England  "  as  by  law  estab- 
lished "  from  heretical  baptismal  rites  of  total  immersion. 
The  picture  had  a  rough  side  to  it,  and  »i*n  a  merry  one ; 
but,  beyond  these,  generous  dealing  wholly  delightful  to 
her  feeling.  She  awoke  soothed  and  restored,  ready  to  con- 
front the  oncoming  of  events — whatever  their  character 
— in  a  spirit  of  high  confidence  as  well  as  of  resolution. 

With  the  purpose  of  advertising  this  brave  humour  she 
dressed  herself  in  her  best.  I  do  not  deny  a  love  of  fine 
clothes  in  Damaris.  Yet  in  her  own  home,  and  for  delecta- 
tion of  the  men  belonging  to  her,  a  woman  is  surely  free 
to  deck  herself  as  handsomely  as  her  purse  allows.? 
"  Beauty  unadorned  "  ceased  to  be  practicable,  in  self- 
respecting  circles,  with  the  expulsion  of  our  first  parents 
from  the  paradisaic  state;  while  beauty  merely  dowdy,  is 
a  pouring  of  contempt  on  one  of  God's  best  gifts  to  the 
human  race.  Therefore  I  find  no  fault  with  Damaris, 
upon  this  rather  fateful  evening,  in  that  she  clothed  her- 
self in  a  maize-coloured  silk  gown  flowered  in  faint  amber 
and  faint  pink.  Cut  in  the  piece  from  shoulder  to  hem, 
according  to  a  then  prevailing  fashion,  it  moulded  bosom, 
waist  and  haunches,  spreading  away  into  a  demi-train  be- 
hind. The  high  Medici  collar  of  old  lace,  at  the  back  of 

439 


440  DEADHAM  HARD 

the  square  decolletage,  conferred  dignity ;  the  hanging  lace 
of  the  elbow  sleeves  a  lightness.  Her  hair,  in  two  wide 
plaits,  bound  her  head  smoothly,  save  where  soft  diso- 
bedient little  curls,  refusing  restriction,  shaded  her  fore- 
head and  the  nape  of  her  neck. 

After  a  few  seconds  of  silent  debate  she  clasped  Carteret's 
pearls  about  her  throat  again;  and  so  fared  away,  a  crea- 
ture of  radiant  aspect,  amid  sombre  setting  of  low  ceilings 
and  dark  carpeted  floors,  to  await  the  advent  of  the 
travellers. 

These  arrived  some  little  while  before  their  time,  so  that 
the  girl,  in  her  gleaming  dress,  had  gone  but  half-way 
down  the  staircase  when  they  came  side  by  side  into  the 
hall. — Two  very  proper  gentlemen,  the  moist  freshness  of 
the  night  attending  them,  a  certain  nobility  in  their  bear- 
ing which  moved  her  to  enthusiasm,  momentarily  even 
bringing  a  mist  before  her  eyes.  For  they  were  safe  and 
well  both  of  them,  so  she  joyously  registered,  serene  of 
countenance,  moreover,  as  bearers  of  glad  tidings  are. 
Whatever  the  ghostly  ponies  foretold  could  be  no  evil 
shadowing  them — for  which  she  gave  God  thanks. 

Meanwhile,  there  without,  the  light  of  the  carriage  lamps 
pierced  the  enclosing  gloom,  played  on  the  silver  plating  of 
harness,  on  the  shining  coats  of  the  horses,  whose  nostrils 
sent  out  jets  of  pale  steam.  Played  over  the  faces  of  the 
servants,  too,  Mary  and  Laura  just  within  the  open  door, 
Hordle  and  Conyers  outside  loading  down  the  baggage 
from  the  back  of  the  mail-phaeton,  and  on  Patch,  exalted 
high  above  them  on  the  driving-seat. 

As  Damaris  paused,  irradiated  by  the  joy  of  welcome 
and  of  forebodings  falsified,  upon  the  lowest  step  of  the 
staircase,  Sir  Charles  turned  aside  and  tenderly  kissed  her. 

"  My  darling,"  he  said. 

And  Carteret,  following  him  an  instant  later,  took  her  by 
both  hands  and,  from  arm's  length,  surveyed  her  in  smil- 
ing admiration  he  made  no  effort  to  repress. 

"  Dear  witch,  this  is  unexpected  good  fortune.  I  had 
little  thought  of  seeing  you  so  soon — resplendent  being 
that  you  are,  veritably  clothed  with  sunshine." 


THROUGH  SHADOWS  TOWARDS  DAWN     441 

"  And  with  your  pearls,"  she  gaily  said. 
'  Ah !  my  poor  pearls,"  he  took  her  up  lightly.  "  I  am 
pleased  they  still  find  favour  in  your  sight.  But  aren't  you 
curious  to  learn  what  has  made  us  desert  our  partridge 
shooting  at  an  hour's  notice,  granting  the  pretty  little 
beggars  unlooked-for  length  of  life?  " 

His  blue  eyes  laughed  into  hers.  There  was  a  delightful 
atmosphere  about  him.  Something  had  happened  to  him 
surely — for  wasn  't  he,  after  all,  a  young  man  even  yet  ? 

'  Yes— what— what  has  brought  you,  Colonel  Sahib?  " 
Damaris  laughed  back  at  him,  bubbling  over  with  happy 
excitement. 

"  Miracles,"  he  answered.  "  A  purblind  Government  at 
last  admits  the  error  of  its  ways  and  proposes  to  make 
reparation  for  its  neglect  of  a  notable  public-servant." 

"  You?  "  she  cried. 

Carteret  shook  his  head,  still  surveying  her  but  with  a 
soberer  glance. 

"  No — no — not  me.  In  any  case  there  isn't  any  indebted- 
ness to  acknowledge — no  arrears  to  pay  off.  I  have  my 
deserts. — To  a  man  immensely  my  superior.  Look  nearer 
home,  dear  witch." 

He  made  a  gesture  in  the  direction  of  his  host. 

"  My  Commissioner  Sahib?  " 

"  Yes — your  Commissioner  Sahib,  who  comes  post  haste 
to  request  your  dear  little  permission,  before  accepting 
this  tardy  recognition  of  his  services  to  the  British  Em- 
pire." 

' '  Ah !  but  that 's  too  much !  ' '  the  girl  said  softly,  glanc- 
ing from  one  to  the  other,  enchanted  a'nd  abashed  by  the 
greatness  of  their  loyalty  to  and  prominent  thought  of  her. 

' '  Has  this  made  him  happy  ?  ' '  she  asked  Carteret,  under 
her  breath.  "  He  looks  so,  I  think.  How  good  that  this  has 
come  in  time — that  it  hasn't  come  too  late." 

For,  in  the  midst  of  her  joyful  excitement,  a  shadow 
crossed  Damaris'  mind  oddly  obscuring  the  light.  She 
suffered  a  perception  things  might  so  easily  have  turned  out 
otherwise;  a  suspicion  that,  had  the  reparation  of  which 
Carteret  spoke  been  delayed,  even  by  a  little,  its  beloved 


442  DEADHAM  HARD 

recipient  would  no  longer  have  found  use  for  or  profit 
in  it.  Damaris  fought  the  black  thought,  as  ungrateful 
and  faithless.  To  fear  disaster  is  too  often  to  invite  it. 

Just  at  this  juncture  Miss  Felicia  made  hurried  and 
gently  eager  irruption  into  the  hall;  and  with  that  ir- 
ruption the  tone  of  prevailing  sentiment  declined  upon  the 
somewhat  trivial,  even  though  warmly  affectionate.  For 
she  fluttered  round  Sir  Charles,  as  Mary  Fisher  helped 
divest  him  of  his  overcoat,  in  sympathetic  overflowings  of 
the  simplest  sort. — "  She  had  been  reading  and  failed  to 
hear  the  carriage,  hence  her  tardy  appearance.  Let  him 
come  into  the  drawing-room  at  once,  out  of  these  draughts. 
There  was  a  delightful  wood  fire  and  he  must  be  chilled. 
The  drive  down  the  valley  was  always  so  cold  at  night — 
particularly  where  the  road  runs  through  the  marsh  lands 
by  Lampit." 

In  her  zeal  of  welcome  Miss  Verity  was  voluble  to  the 
point  of  inconsequence,  not  to  say  incoherence.  Questions 
poured  from  her.  She  appeared  agitated,  quaintly  self- 
conscious,  so  at  least  it  occurred  to  Damaris.  Finally  she 
addressed  Carteret. 

"  And  you  too  must  be  frozen,"  she  declared.  "  How 
long  it  is  since  we  met !  I  have  always  been  so  unlucky  in 
just  missing  you  here !  Really  I  believe  I  have  only  seen 
you  once  since  you  and  Charles  stayed  with  us  at  Canton 
Magna. — You  were  both  on  leave  from  India.  I  dare  not 
think  how  many  years  ago  that  is — before  this  child  " — 
her  candid  eyes  appealingly  sought  those  of  Damaris — 
"  before  this  child  existed.  And  you  are  so  wonderfully 
unaltered. ' ' 

Colour  dyed  her  thin  face  and  rather  scraggy  neck. 
Only  the  young  should  blush.  After  forty  such  involuntary 
exhibitions  of  emotion  are  unattractive,  questionably  even 
pathetic. 

"  Really  time  has  stood  still  with  you — it  seems  to  me, 
Colonel  Carteret." 

"  Time  has  done  better  than  stand  still,"  Damaris  broke 
in,  with  a  rather  surprising  imperiousness.  "  It  has 
beautifully  run  backwards — lately." 


And  our  maiden,  in  her  whispering  gleaming  dress,  swept 
down  from  the  step,  swept  past  the  sadly  taken  aback  Miss 
Felicia,  and  joined  her  father.  She  put  her  hand  within 
his  arm. 

"  Come  and  warm  yourself — come,  dearest,"  she  said, 
gently  drawing  him  onward  into  the  long  room,  where 
from  above  the  range  of  dark  bookshelves,  goggle-eyed, 
pearl-grey  Chinese  goblins  and  monsters,  and  oblique-eyed 
Chinese  philosophers  and  saints  looked  mysteriously  down 
through  the  warm  mellow  light. 

Damaris  was  conscious  of  a  singular  inward  turmoil. 
For  Miss  Felicia's  speeches  found  small  favour  in  her 
ears.  She  resented  this  open  claiming  of  Carteret  as  a 
member  of  the  elder  generation.  Still  more  resented  her 
own  relegation  to  the  nullity  of  the  prenatal  state. 
Reminiscences,  in  which  she  had  neither  lot  nor  part,  left 
her  cold.  Or,  to  be  accurate,  bred  in  her  an  intemperate 
heat,  putting  a  match  to  jealousies  which,  till  this  instant, 
she  had  no  knowledge  of.  Touched  by  that  match  they  flared 
to  the  confusion  of  charity  and  reverence.  Hence,  impul- 
sively, unscrupulously,  yet  with  ingenious  unkindness,  she 
struck — her  tongue  a  sword — to  the  wounding  of  poor  Miss 
Felicia.  And  she  felt  no  necessity  for  apology.  She  liked 
to  be  unkind.  She  liked  to  strike.  Aunt  Felicia  should  not 
have  been  so  self-assertive,  so  tactless.  She  had  brought 
chastisement  upon  herself.  It  wasn't  like  her  to  behave 
thus.  Her  enthusiasms  abounded;  but  she  possessed  a 
delicate  appreciation  of  relative  positions.  She  never 
poached.  This  came  perilously  near  poaching. — And  every- 
thing had  danced  to  so  inspiring  a  tune,  the  movement  of 
it  so  delicious !  Now  the  evening  was  spoilt.  The  first  fine 
alacrity  of  it  could  not  be  recaptured — which  was  all  Aunt 
Felicia's  fault. — No,  for  her  unkindness  Damaris  felt  no 
regret. 

It  may  be  remarked  that  our  angry  maiden's  mind  dwelt 
rather  upon  the  snub  she  had  inflicted  on  Miss  Verity, 
than  upon  the  extensive  compliment  she  had  paid,  and  the 
challenge  she  had  delivered,  to  Carteret.  Hearing  her 
flattering  declaration,  his  mind  not  unnaturally  dwelt  more 


444.  DEADHAM  HARD 

upon  the  latter.  It  took  him  like  a  blow,  so  that  from 
bending  courteously  over  the  elder  lady's  hand,  he  straight- 
ened himself  with  a  jerk.  His  eyes  followed  the  imperious, 
sun-clad  young  figure,  questioning  and  keenly  alert.  To- 
day he  had  liberally  enjoyed  the  pleasures  of  friendship, 
for  Charles  Verity  had  been  largely  and  generously  elate. 
But  Damaris'  outburst  switched  feeling  and  sentiment  onto 
other  lines.  They  became  personal.  Were  her  words 
thrown  off  in  mere  lightness  of  heart,  or  had  she  spoken 
deliberately,'  with  intention?  It  were  wiser,  perhaps,  not 
to  ask.  He  steadied  his  attention  on  to  Miss  Felicia  once 
more,  but  not  without  effort. 

"  You  always  said  kind  and  charming  things,  I  re- 
member," so  he  told  her.  "  You  are  good  enough  to  say 
them  still." 

Damaris  stood  by  her  father,  upon  the  tiger  skin  before 
the  hearth. 

"  Tell  me,  dearest?  "  she  prayed  him. 

Charles  Verity  put  his  hand  under  her  chin,  turned  up 
her  face  and  looked  searchingly  at  her.  Her  beauty  to- 
night was  conspicuous  and  of  noble  quality.  It  satisfied  his 
pride.  Public  life  invited  him,  offering  him  place  and 
power.  Ranklings  of  disappointment,  of  detraction  and 
slight,  were  extinguished.  His  soul  was  delivered  from  the 
haunting  vexations  of  them.  He  was  in  the  saddle  again, 
and  this  radiant  woman-child,  whom  he  so  profoundly 
loved,  should  ride  forth  with  him  for  all  the  world  to  see 
— if  she  pleased.  That  she  would  please  he  had  no  doubt. 
Pomp  and  circumstance  would  suit  her  well.  She  was, 
moreover,  no  slight  or  frothy  piece  of  femininity ;  but  could 
be  trusted,  amid  the  glamour  of  new  and  brilliant  condi- 
tions, to  use  her  judgment  and  to  keep  her  head.  In- 
creasingly he  respected  her  character  as  well  as  her  in- 
telligence. He  found  in  her  unswerving  sense  of  right 
and  wrong,  sense  of  honour  likewise.  Impetuous  she  might 
be,  swift  to  feel  and  to  revolt;  but  of  tender  conscience 
and,  on  occasion,  royally  compassionate.  Now  he  could 
give  her  fuller  opportunity.  Could  place  her  in  circum- 
stances admittedly  enviable  and  prominent.  From  a  com- 


THROUGH  SHADOWS  TOWARDS  DAWN     445 

parative  back-water,  she  should  gain  the  full  stream — and 
that  stream,  in  a  sense,  at  the  flood. 

Rarely,  if  ever,  had  Charles  Verity  experienced  purer 
pleasure,  touched  a  finer  level  of  purpose  and  of  hope  than 
to-day,  when  thinking  of  and  now  when  looking  upon 
Damaris.  He  thankfully  appraised  her  worth,  and  in  spirit 
bowed  before  it,  not  doatingly  or  weakly  but  with  reasoned 
conviction.  "Weighed  in  the  balances  she  would  not  be 
found  wanting,  such  was  his  firm  belief.  For  himself  he 
accepted  this  recall  to  active  participation  in  affairs,  active 
service  to  the  State,  with  a  lofty  content.  But  that  his 
daughter,  in  the  flower  of  her  young  womanhood,  would 
profit  by  this  larger  and  more  distinguished  way  of  life, 
gave  the  said  recall  its  deeper  values  and  its  zest. 

Still  he  put  her  off  awhile  as  to  the  exact  announcement, 
smiling  upon  her  in  fond,  yet  stately  approval. 

"  Let  the  telling  keep  until  after  dinner,  my  dear,"  he 
bade  her.  "  Pacify  the  cravings  of  the  natural  man  for 
food  and  drink.  The  day  has  been  fertile  in  demands — 
strenuous  indeed  to  the  point  of  fatigue.  So  let  us  com- 
fort ourselves  inwardly  and  materially  before  we  affront 
weighty  decisions." 

He  kissed  her  cheek. 

"  By  the  way,  though,  does  it  ever  occur  to  you  to 
think  of  the  Bhutpur  Sultan-i-bagh  and  wish  to  go  East 
again?  " 

And  Damaris,  with  still  uplifted  chin,  surveyed  him 
gravely  and  with  a  certain  wistfulness,  Miss  Felicia's  at- 
tempted poaching  forgotten  and  an  impression  of  Faircloth 
vividly  overtaking  her.  For  they  were  so  intimately,  dis- 
turbingly alike,  the  father  and  the  son,  in  voice  as  well  as 
in  build  and  feature. 

"  Go  East?  "  she  said,  Faircloth 's  declared  preference 
for  sailing  into  the  sunrise  present  to  her.  '  Why,  I  go 
East  in  my  dreams  nearly  every  night.  I  love  it — love  it 
more  rather  than  less  as  I  grow  older.  Of  course  I  wish  to 
go— some  day.  But  that's  by  the  way,  Commissioner 
Sahib.  All  that  I  really  want,  now,  at  once,  is  to  go 
wherever  you  go,  stay  wherever  you  stay.  You  won't  ask 


446  DEADHAM  HARD 

me  to  agree  to  any  plan  which  parts  us,  will  you? — which 
takes  you  away  from  me?  " 

"  Ruth  to  a  strange  Naomi,  my  dear,"  he  answered. 
"  But  so  be  it.  I  desire  nothing  better  than  to  have  you 
always  with  me. — But  I  will  not  keep  you  on  tenter-hooks 
as  to  your  and  my  projected  destination.  Let  them  bring 
in  dinner  in  half  an  hour.  Carteret  and  I  shall  be  ready. 
Meanwhile,  read  this — agreeing  to  relegate  discussion  of  it 
to  a  less  hungry  season." 

And  taking  the  letter  she  had  forwarded  to  him  yester- 
day, bearing  the  imprint  of  the  Indian  Office,  from  the 
breast  pocket  of  his  shooting  coat,  he  put  it  into  her 
hand. 

The  appointment — namely,  that  of  Lieutenant-Governor 
of  an  Indian  presidency  famous  in  modern  history,  a  cradle 
of  great  reputations  and  great  men,  of  English  names  to 
conjure  with  while  our  Eastern  Empire  endures — was  of- 
fered, in  terms  complimentary  above  those  common  to  of- 
ficial communications.  Sir  Charles  Verity's  expert  knowl- 
edge, not  only  of  the  said  mighty  province  but  of  the 
turbulent  kingdom  lying  beyond  its  frontiers,  marked  him 
as  peculiarly  fitted  for  the  post.  A  campaign  against  that 
same  turbulent  kingdom  had  but  recently  been  brought  to 
a  victorious  conclusion.  His  influence,  it  was  felt,  might 
be  of  supreme  value  at  this  juncture  in  the  maintenance  of 
good  relations,  and  consolidation  of  permanent  peace. 

Damans'  heart  glowed  within  her  as  she  read  the  courte- 
ous praiseful  sentences.  Even  more  than  through  the  well- 
merited  success  of  his  book,  did  her  father  thus  obtain 
and  come  into  the  fullness  of  his  own  at  last.  Her  imagina- 
tion glowed,  too,  calling  up  pictures  of  the  half-remem- 
bered, half-fabulous  oriental  scene.  The  romance  of 
English  rule  in  India,  the  romance  of  India  itself,  its 
variety,  its  complexity,  the  multitude  of  its  gods,  the  multi- 
tude of  its  peoples,  hung  before  her  as  a  mirage,  prodigal 
in  marvels,  reaching  back  and  linking  up  through  the  cen- 
turies with  the  hidden  wisdom,  the  hidden  terror  of  the 
Ancient  of  Days. 

To  this  land  of  alien  faiths  and  secular  wonders,  she 


THROUGH  SHADOWS  TOWARDS  DAWN     447 

found  herself  summoned,  not  as  casual  sightseer  or  tourist, 
but  as  among  the  handful  of  elect  persons  who  count  in  its 
social,  political  and  administrative  life.  In  Virtue  of  her 
father's  position,  her  own  would  be  both  conspicuous  and 
assured. — An  intoxicating  prospect  this  for  a  girl  of  one- 
and-twenty!  Intoxicating,  yet,  as  she  envisaged  it,  dis- 
quieting likewise.  She  balanced  on  the  thought  of  all  it 
demanded  as  well  as  all  it  offered,  of  all  it  required  from 
her — dazed  by  the  largeness  of  the  purview,  volition  in 
suspense. 

Carteret  was  the  first  to  reappear,  habited  in  the  pre- 
scribed black  and  white  of  evening  male  attire.  In  the  last 
six  months  he  had,  perhaps,  put  on  flesh ;  but  this  without 
detriment  to  the  admirable  proportions  of  his  figure.  It 
retained  its  effect  of  perfect  response  to  the  will  within, 
and  all  its  natural  grace.  His  fair  hair  and  moustache  were 
still  almost  untouched  with  grey.  His  physical  attraction, 
in  short,  remained  unimpaired.  And  of  this  Damaris  was 
actually,  if  unconsciously,  sensible  as  he  closed  the  door 
and,  passing  between  the  stumpy  pillars,  walked  up  the 
long  narrow  room  and  stood,  his  hands  behind  him,  his  back 
to  the  pleasantly  hissing  and  crackling  fire  of  driftwood. 

"  Alone,  dear  witch?  "  he  said,  and,  seeing  the  open 
letter  in  her  hand — "  Well,  what  do  you  make  of  this 
proposition?  "  And  yet  again,  as  she  raised  serious  pon- 
dering eyes — "  You  find  it  an  extensive  order?  " 

"  I  find  it  magnificent  for  him — beautifully  as  it  should 
be,  adequate  and  right." 

"  And  for  yourself?  "  Carteret  asked,  aware  of  a  care- 
fulness in  her  language  and  intrigued  by  it. 

"  Magnificent  for  me,  too — though  it  takes  away  my 
breath." 

"  You  must  learn  to  breathe  deeper,  that's  all,"  he  re- 
turned, gently  teasing  her. 

' '  And  who  is  to  teach  me  to  breathe  deeper,  dear  Colonel 
Sahib,"  she  quickly,  and  rather  embarrassingly,  asked. 
"  Not  my  father.  He'll  have  innumerable  big  things  to 
do;  and  to  do  them  without  waste  of  energy  he  must  be 
saved  at  every  point.  He  must  not  fritter  away  strength  in 


448  DEADHAM  HARD 

coaching  me  in  my  odds  and  ends  of  duties,  still  less  in 
covering  up  my  silly  mistakes." 

"Oh!  you  exaggerate  difficulties,"  he  said,  looking  not 
at  her  but  at  the  fierce  yellow  and  black  striped  tiger  skin 
at  his  feet. — Bless  the  lovely  child,  what  was  she  driving 
at? 

Carteret  started  for  Deadham  under  the  impression  he 
had  himself  thoroughly  in  hand,  and  that  all  danger  of 
certain  inconvenient  emotions  was  passed.  He  had  lived 
them  down,  cast  them  out.  For  over  two  years  now  he  had 
given  himself  to  the  superintendence  of  his  estate,  to  county 
business,  to  the  regulation  of  his  sister's — happily  more 
prosperous — affairs,  to  the  shepherding  of  his  two  elder 
nephews  in  their  respective  professions  and  securing  the 
two  younger  ones  royally  good  times  during  their  holidays 
at  home.  Throughout  the  hunting  season,  moreover,  he 
rode  to  hounds  on  an  average  of  three  days  a  week.  Such 
healthy  sport  helps  notably  to  deliver  a  man  from  vain 
desires,  by  sending  his  body  cleanly  weary  to  bed  and  to 
sleep  o*  nights. 

By  such  varied  activities  had  Carteret  systematically  es- 
sayed to  rid  himself  of  his  somewhat  exquisite  distemper, 
and,  when  coming  to  Deadham,  honestly  believed  himself 
immune,  sane  and  safe.  He  was  proportionately  disturbed 
by  finding  the  cure  of  this  autumn  love-madness  less  com- 
plete than,  fool-like,  he  had  supposed.  For  it  showed  dis- 
quieting signs  of  resurrection  even  when  Damaris,  arrayed 
in  the  sheen  of  silken  sunlight,  greeted  him  at  the  staircase 
foot,  and  an  alarming  disposition  finally  to  fling  away  head- 
cloth  and  winding-sheet  when  she  petulantly  broke  in  upon 
Miss  Verity's  faded  memories  of  Canton  Magna  with  the 
flattering  assertion  that  time  had  run  backward  with  him 
of  late. 

Now  alone  with  her,  confident,  moreover,  of  her  maidenly 
doubts  and  pretty  self-distrust,  he  felt  at  a  decided  dis- 
advantage. The  detached,  affectionately  friendly,  the 
avuncular — not  to  say  grandf  atherly — attitude  escaped  him. 
He  could  not  play  that  part. 

"Oh!  you   exaggerate   difficulties,"   he  therefore   told 


THROUGH  SHADOWS  TOWARD  DAWN  449 

her,  with  a  singular  absence  of  his  habitual  mansuetude, 
his  tone  trenching  on  impatience.  "  Instinct  and  com- 
mon sense  will  teach  you — mother-wit,  too — of  which,  you 
may  take  it  from  me,  you  have  enough  and  to  spare.— Let 
alone  that  there  will  be  a  host  of  people  emulous  of  guid- 
ing your  steps  aright,  if  your  steps  should  stand  in  need 
of  guidance  which  I  venture  to  doubt.  Don't  underrate 
your  own  cleverness." 

Hearing  him,  sensible  of  his  apparent  impatience  and 
misconceiving  the  cause  of  it,  Damaris'  temper  stirred. 
She  felt  vexed.  She  also  felt  injured. 

"  What  has  happened  to  you,  Colonel  Sahib?  "  she  asked 
him  squarely.  "  I  see  nothing  foolish  in  what  I  have  said. 
You  wouldn't  have  me  so  conceited  that  I  rushed  into  this 
immense  business  without  a  qualm,  without  any  thought 
whether  I  can  carry  it  out  creditably — with  credit  to  him, 
I  mean?  " 

Thus  astonishingly  attacked,  Carteret  hedged. 

"  Miss  Verity,  of  course,  will  be  " he  began. 

Damaris  cut  him  short. 

"  Aunt  Felicia  is  an  angel,  a  darling,"  she  declared, 
"but— but" 

And  there  stopped,  pricked  by  a  guilty  conscience.  For 
to  expose  Miss  Felicia's  inadequacies  and  enlarge  on  her 
ineligibility  for  the  position  of  feminine  Chief  of  the  Staff, 
struck  her  as  unworthy,  a  meanness  to  which,  under  exist- 
ing circumstances,  she  could  not  condescend  to  stoop. 

Carteret  looked  up,  to  be  entranced  not  only  by  the  fair 
spectacle  of  her  youth  but  by  her  delicious  little  air  of 
shame  and  self-reproach.  Evidently  she  had  caught  herself 
out  in  some  small  naughtiness—was  both  penitent  and  de- 
fiant, at  once  admitting  her  fault  and  pleading  for  indul- 
gence. He  suspected  some  thought  at  the  back  of  her  mind 
which  he  could  neither  exactly  seize  nor  place.  She  baffled 
him  with  her  changes  of  mood  and  of  direction — coming 
close  and  then  slipping  from  under  his  hand.  This  humour 
was  surely  new  in  her.  She  would  not  leave  him  alone, 
would  not  let  him  rest.  Had  she  developed,  since  last  he 
had  converse  with  her,  into  a  practised  coquette? 


450  DEADHAM  HARD 

"  Look  here,  dear  witch,"  he  said,  making  a  return  upon 
himself,  and  manfully  withstanding  the  sweet  provoca- 
tion of  her  near  neighbourhood.  "  We  seem  to  be  queerly 
at  cross  purposes.  I  can't  pretend  to  follow  the  turnings 
and  doublings  of  your  ingenious  mind.  I  gather  there  is 
something  you  want  of  me.  To  be  plain,  then,  what  is  it?  " 

' '  That — that  you  shouldn  't  desert  me — desert  us — in  this 
crisis.  You  have  never  deserted  me  before — never  since  I 
can  first  remember." 

"  I  desert  you — good  Lord!  "  Carteret  exclaimed,  his 
hands  dropping  at  his  sides  with  an  odd  sort  of  helpless- 
ness. 

"Ah!  that's  asking  too  much,  I  suppose,"  she  said. 
"I'm  selfish  even  to  think  of  it.  Yet  how  can  I  do  other- 
wise? Don't  you  understand  how  all  difficulties  would 
vanish,  and  how  beautifully  simple  and  easy  everything 
would  be  if  you  coached  me — if  you,  dear  Colonel  Sahib, 
went  with  us?  " 

The  man  with  the  blue  eyes  looked  down  at  the  tiger 
skin  again,  his  countenance  strained  and  blanched. 

More  than  ever  did  he  find  her  humour  baffling.  Not 
once  nor  twice  had  he,  putting  force  upon  himself,  resisted 
the  temptation  to  woo  her — witness  his  retirement  from  St. 
Augustin  and  his  determined  abstinence  from  intercourse 
with  her  since.  But  now,  so  it  might  veritably  appear,  the 
positions  were  reversed  and  she  wooed  him.  Though 
whether  pushed  to  that  length  merely  by  wayward  fancy,  by 
some  transient  skittish  influence  or  frolic  in  the  blood,  or 
by  realized  design  he  had  no  means  of  judging. — Well, 
he  had  bidden  her  be  plain,  and  she,  in  some  sort  at  least, 
obeyed  him.  It  behooved  him,  therefore,  to  be  plain  in 
return,  in  as  far  as  a  straightforward  reading  of  her 
meaning  would  carry. 

"  So  you  think  all  would  be  simple  and  easy  were  I  to 
go  with  you  and  your  father?  "  he  said,  both  speech  and 
manner  tempered  to  gentleness.  "  I  am  glad  to  have  you 
think  so — should  be  still  more  glad  could  I  share  your 
belief.  But  I  know  better,  dearest  witch — know  that  you 
are  mistaken.  This  is  no  case  of  desertion — put  that  out 


THROUGH  SHADOWS  TOWARD  DAWN     451 

of  your  precious  mind  once  and  for  all — but  of  discretion. 
My  being  in  attendance,  far  from  simplifying,  would  em- 
broil and  distort  your  position.  An  elderly  gentleman 

perpetually  trotting  " 

'  Don't,"  Damaris  cried,  holding  up  both  hands  in  hot 
repudiation.  "  Don't  say  that.  There's  distortion  if  you 
like!  It's  ugly— I  won't  have  it,  for  it  is  not  true." 

In  the  obvious  sincerity  of  which  denunciation  Carteret 
found  balm;  yet  adhered  to  his  purpose. 

"  But  it  is  true,  alas;  and  I  therefore  repeat  it  both  for 
your  admonition  and  my  own.  For  an  elderly  gentleman 
trotting  at  a  young  girl's  heels  is  a  most  unedifying  spec- 
tacle— giving  occasion,  and  reasonably,  to  the  enemy  to 
blaspheme — bad  for  her  in  numberless  ways;  and,  if  he's 
any  remnant  of  self-respect  left  in  him,  is  anything  better 
than  a  fatuous  dotard,  damnably  bad  for  him  as  well.  Do 
you  understand?  " 

Damaris  presented  a  mutinous  countenance.  She  would 
have  had  much  ado  to  explain  her  own  motives  during  this 
ten  minutes'  conference.  If  her  mental — or  were  they 
not  rather  mainly  emotional? — turnings  and  doublings 
proved  baffling  to  her  companion,  they  proved  baffling  to  her- 
self in  an  almost  greater  degree.  Things  in  general  seemed 
to  have  gone  into  the  melting-pot.  So  many  events  had 
taken  place,  so  many  more  been  preshadowed,  so  many 
strains  of  feeling  excited !  And  these  were  conf usingly  un- 
related, or  appeared  to  be  so  as  yet.  Amongst  the  con- 
fusion of  them  she  found  no  sure  foothold,  still  less  any 
highway  along  which  to  travel  in  confidence  and  security. 
Her  thought  ran  wild.  Her  intentions  ran  with  it,  chang- 
ing their  colour  chameleon-like  from  minute  to  minute. 
Now  she  was  tempted  to  make  an  equivocal  rejoinder. 

"To  understand,"  she  said,  "is  not  always,  Colonel 
'Sahib,  necessarily  to  agree." 

"  I  am  satisfied  with  understanding  and  don't  press  for 
agreement,"  he  answered,  and  on  an  easier  note — "  since 
to  me  it  is  glaringly  evident  you  should  take  this  fine 
flight  unhandicapped.  My  duty  is  to  stand  aside  and  leave 
you  absolutely  free— not  because  I  enjoy  standing  aside, 


452  DEADHAM  HARD 

but  " — he  would  allow  sentiment  such  meagre  indulgence 
— "  just  exactly  because  I  do  not." 

Here  for  the  second  time,  at  the  crucial  moment,  Felicia 
Verity  made  irruption  upon  the  scene.  But  though  her 
entrance  was  hurried,  it  differed  fundamentally  from  that 
earlier  one ;  so  that  both  the  man  and  the  girl,  standing  in 
the  proximity  of  their  intimate  colloquy  before  the  fire, 
were  sensible  of  and  arrested  by  it.  She  was  self-forgetful, 
self-possessed,  the  exalted  touch  of  a  pure  devotion  upon 
her. 

"  I  have  been  with  my  brother  Charles,"  she  began, 
addressing  them  both.  ' '  I  happened  to  see  Hordle  coming 
from  the  library — and  I  put  off  dinner.  I  thought,  dar- 
ling " — this  to  Damaris,  with  a  becoming  hint  of 
deference — "  I  might  do  so.  I  gathered  that  Charles — 
that  your  father — wished  it.  He  has  not  been  feeling 
well." 

And  as  Damaris  anxiously  exclaimed — 

"  Yes  " — Miss  Felicia  went  on — "  not  at  all  well. 
Hordle  told  me.  That  was  why  I  went  to  the  library.  He 
hoped,  if  he  waited  and  rested  for  a  little  while,  the  un- 
comfortable sensations  might  subside  and  it  would  be  need- 
less to  mention  them.  He  did  not  want  any  fuss  made. 
We  gave  him  restoratives,  and  he  recovered  from  the 
faintness.  But  he  won't  be  equal,  he  admits,  to  coming 
in  to  dinner.  Colonel  Carteret  must  be  hungry — your 
father  begs  us  to  wait  no  longer,  I  assured  him  we  would 
not.  Hordle  is  with  him.  He  should  not  be  alone,  I  think, 
while  any  pain  continues." 

"  Pain — pain?  "  Damaris  cried,  her  imagination  rather 
horribly  caught  by  the  word.  "  But  is  he  hurt,  has  he  had 
some  accident?  " 

While  Carteret  asked  tersely:  "  Pain — and  where?  " 

"  Here,"  Felicia  answered,  laying  her  hand  upon  her 
left  side  over  the  heart.  She  looked  earnestly  at  Carteret 
as  she  spoke,  conveying  to  him  an  alarm  she  sought  to 
spare  Damaris. 

' '  He  tries  to  make  little  of  it,  and  assures  me  it  was  only 
the  heat  of  the  house  which  caused  him  discomfort  after 


THROUGH  SHADOWS  TOWARDS  DAWN     453 

the  cold  air  out  of  doors.  It  may  be  only  that,  but  I  think 
we  ought  to  make  sure." 

Again,  and  with  that  same  becoming  hint  of  deference, 
she  turned  to  her  niece. 

"  So  I  sent  orders  that  Patch  should  drive  at  once  to 
Stourmouth  and  fetch  Dr.  McCabe.  I  did  not  stop  to  con- 
sult you  because  it  seemed  best  he  should  take  out  the 
horses  before  they  were  washed  down  and  stabled." 

"  Yes — but  I  can  go  to  him?  "  Damaris  asked. 

"  Darling — of  course.  But  I  would  try  to  follow  his 
lead,  if  I  were  you — treat  it  all  lightly,  since  he  so  wishes. 
Your  father  knows  best  in  most  things — and  may  know 
best  in  this.  Please  God  it  is  so." 

Left  alone  with  Carteret. 

' '  I  am  anxious — most  cruelly  anxious  about  my  brother, ' ' 
she  said. 

While  Damaris,  sweeping  across  the  hall  and  down  the 
corridor  in  her  sunshine  silken  dress,  repeated: 

"  The  ponies — the  smugglers'  ponies,"  a  sob  in  her 
throat. 


CHAPTER  VH 

TELLING  HOW   CHARLES  VERITY  LOOKED  ON   THE  MOTHER  OP 

HIS  SON 

""¥  "W  THIGH  is  equivalent  to  saying,  '  Hear  the  con- 

\\  elusion  of  the  whole  matter,'  isn't  it,  McCabef  " 
Dr.  McCabe's  square,  hairy-backed  hands  fum- 
bled with  the  stethoscope  as  he  pushed  it  into  his  breast 
pocket,  and,  in  replying,  his  advertised  cheerfulness  rang 
somewhat  fake. 

"  Not  so  fast,  Sir  Charles — in  the  good  Lord's  name,  not 
so  fast.  While  there's  life  there's  hope,  it's  me  settled 
opinion.  I'm  never  for  signing  a  patient's  death-warrant 
before  the  blessed  soul  of  him's  entirely  parted  company 
with  its  mortal  tenement  of  clay.  The  normal  human  being 
takes  a  mighty  lot  of  killing  in  my  experience,  where  the 
will  to  live  is  still  intact.  Let  alone  that  you  can  never  be 
quite  upsides  with  Nature.  Ah!  she's  an  astonishing  box 
of  tricks  to  draw  on  where  final  dissolution's  concerned. 
She  glories  to  turn  round  on  your  pathological  and  biologi- 
cal high  science ;  and,  while  you're  measuring  a  man  for  his 
coffin,  to  help  him  give  death  the  slip." 

Charles  Verity  slightly  shifted  his  position — and  .that 
with  singular  carefulness — against  the  pillows  in  the  deep 
red-covered  chair.  His  hands,  inert  and  bluish  about  the 
fingertips,  lay  along  the  padded  arms  of  it.  The  jacket 
of  his  grey-and-white  striped  flannel  sleeping-suit  was  un- 
fastened at  the  throat,  showing  the  irregular  lift  and  fall 
of  his  chest  with  each  laboured  breath.  His  features 
were  accentuated,  his  face  drawn  and  of  a  surprising 
pallor. 

The  chair,  in  which  he  sat,  had  been  brought  forward 
into  the  wide  arc  of  the  great  window  forming  the  front 
of  the  room.  Two  bays  of  this  stood  open  down  to  the 

454 


THROUGH  SHADOWS  TOWARDS  DAWN     455 

ground.  Looking  out,  beyond  the  rich  brown  of  the  newly- 
turned  earth  in  the  flower-beds,  the  lawn  stretched  away — 
a  dim  greyish  green,  under  the  long  shadows  cast  by  the 
hollies  masking  the  wall  on  the  left,  and  glittering, 
powdered  by  myriads  of  scintillating  dewdrops,  where  the 
early  sunshine  slanted  down .  on  it  from  between  their 
stiff  pinnacles  and  sharply  serrated  crests. 

In  the  shrubberies  robins  sang,  shrilly  sweet.  A  murmur 
of  waves,  breaking  at  the  back  of  the  Bar,  hung  in  the 
chill,  moist,  windless  air.  Presently  a  handbarrow  rum- 
bled and  creaked,  as  West — the  head  gardener,  last  surviv- 
ing relic  of  Thomas  Clarkson  Verity's  reign — wheeled  it 
from  beneath  the  ilex  trees  towards  the  battery,  leaving 
dark  smudgy  tracks  upon  the  spangled  turf. 

Arrived  at  his  objective,  the  old  gardener,  with  most 
admired  deliberation,  loaded  down  long-handled  birch- 
broom,  rake  and  hoe;  and  applied  himself  to  mysterious 
peckings  and  sweeping  of  the  gravel  around  the  wooden 
carriages  of  the  little  cannon  and  black  pyramid  of  ball. — 
Man,  tools,  and  barrow  were  outlined  against  the  pensive 
brightness  of  autumn  sea  and  autumn  sky,  which  last,  to 
southward,  still  carried  remembrance  of  sunrise  in  a  broad 
band  of  faint  yellowish  pink,  fading  upward  into  misty 
azure  and  barred  with  horizontal  pencillings  of  tarnished 
silver  cloud. 

Thus  far  Charles  Verity  had  watched  the  progress  of  the 
bowed,  slow-moving  figure  musingly.  But  now,  as  the 
iron  of  the  hoe  clinked  against  the  gravel  flints,  he  came 
back,  so  to  say,  to  himself  and  back  to  the  supreme  question 
at  issue.  He  looked  up,  his  eyes  and  the  soundless  ironic 
laughter  resident  in  them,  meeting  McCabe's  twinkling, 
cunning  yet  faithful  and  merry  little  eyes,  with  a 
flash. 

"  The  work  of  the  world  is  not  arrested,"  he  said.  "  See, 
that  octogenarian,  old  West,  He  wheeled  ill-oiled,  squeak- 
ing barrows  and  hacked  at  the  garden  paths  when  I  was 
a  Harchester  boy.  He  wheels  the  one  and  hacks  at  the 
other  even  yet — a  fact  nicely  lowering  to  one's  private 
egotism,  when  you  come  to  consider  it.  Why,  then,  my 


456  DEADHAM  HARD 

good  friend,  perjure  yourself  or  strive  to  mince  matters? 
The  work  of  the  world  will  be  done  whether  I'm  here  to 
direct  the  doing  of  it  or  not. — Granted  I  am  tough  and 
in  personal  knowledge  of  ill-health  a  neophyte.  My  luck 
throughout  has  been  almost  uncanny.  Neither  in  soldier- 
ing nor  in  sport,  from  man  or  from  beast,  have  I  ever  suf- 
fered so  much  as  a  scratch.  I  have  borne  a  charmed  life — 
established  a  record  for  invulnerability,  which  served  me 
well  in  the  East  where  the  gods  still  walk  in  the  semblance 
of  man  and  miracle  is  still  persistently  prevalent.  Acci- 
dent has  passed  me  by — save  for  being  laid  up  once,  nearly 
thirty  years  ago,  with  a  broken  ankle  in  the  house  of  some 
friends  at  Poonah." 

He  ceased  speaking,  checking,  as  it  seemed,  disposition  to 
further  disclosure ;  while  the  soundless  laughter  in  his  eyes 
found  answering  expression  upon  his  lips,  curving  them 
to  a  somewhat  bitter  smile  beneath  the  flowing  moustache. 

' '  In  to-day 's  enforced  idleness  how  persistently  cancelled 
episodes  and  emotions  rap,  ghostly,  on  the  door  demanding 
and  gaining  entrance!"  he  presently  said.  ''Must  we 
take  it,  Doctor,  that  oblivion  is  a  fiction,  merciful  forget- 
fulness  an  illusion;  and  that  every  action,  every  desire — 
whether  fulfilled  or  not — is  printed  indelibly  upon  one's 
memory,  merely  waiting  the  hour  of  weakness  and  physical 
defeat  to  show  up?  " 

"  The  Lord  only  knows!  "  McCabe  threw  off,  a  little 
hopelessly.  This  was  the  first  utterance  approaching  com- 
plaint; and  he  deplored  it  for  his  patient's  sake.  He  didn't 
like  that  word  defeat. 

Then,  to  his  hearer's  relief  with  a  softened  accent,  Charles 
Verity  took  up  his  former  theme. 

"  Save  for  a  trifling  go  of  fever  now  and  again,  illness 
has  given  me  the  go-by  equally  with  accident.  But,  for  all 
my  ignorance  of  such  afflictions  I  know,  beyond  all  shadow 
of  doubt,  that  a  few  repetitions  of  the  experience  of  last 
night  must  close  any  man's  account.  Experiment  is  more 
enlightening  than  argument.  There  is  no  shaking  the 
knowledge  you  arrive  at  through  it." 

McCabe,  standing  at  ease  by  the  open  window,  untidy, 


THROUGH  SHADOWS  TOWARDS  DAWN     457 

hirsute,  unkempt,  rammed  his  hands  down  into  his  gaping 
trouser  pockets  and  nodded  unwilling  agreement. 

'  The  attack  was  bad,"  he  said.  "I'm  not  denying  it 
was  murderously  bad.  And  all  the  harder  on  you  because, 
but  for  the  one  defaulting  organ,  your  heart,  you're  as 
sound  as  a  bell.  You're  a  well  enough  man  to  put  up  a 
good  fight;  and  that,  you  see,  cuts  both  ways,  be  danged 
to  it." 

'  A  chain  is  no  stronger  than  its  weakest  link. — You 
know  as  well  as  I  do  the  Indian  appointment  will  never  be 
gazetted." 

'  There  you  have  me,  Sir  Charles,  loath  though  I  am 
to  admit  as  much.  I'd  be  a  liar  if  I  denied  it  would 
not." 

'  How  long  do  you  give  me  then?  Months,  or  only 
weeks?  " 

"  That  depends  in  the  main  on  yourself,  in  as  far  as 
I  can  presume  to  pronounce.  With  care  ' ' 

"  Which  means  sitting  still  here  " — 

"It  does." 

Charles  Verity  raised  his  shoulders  the  least  bit. 

"  Not  good  enough,  McCabe,"  he  declared,  "  not  good 
enough.  There  are  rites  to  be  duly  performed,  words  to  be 
said,  which  I  refuse  to  neglect.  Oh,  no,  don't  misunder- 
stand me.  I  don't  need  professional  help  to  accomplish 
my  dying.  Were  I  a  member  of  your  communion  it  might 
be  different,  but  I  require  no  much-married  parsonic  inter- 
mediary to  make  my  peace  with  God.  I  am  but  little 
troubled  regarding  that.  Shall  not  the  judge  of  all  the 
earth  do  right? — Nevertheless,  there  remain  rites  to  be 
decently  performed.  I  must  make  my  peace  with  man — 
and  still  more  with  woman — before  I  go  hence  and  am  no 
more  seen.  But,  look  here,  I  have  no  wish  to  commit  my- 
self too  soon,  and  risk  the  bathos  of  an  anti-climax  by 
having  to  perform  them  twice,  repeat  them  at  a  later 
date. — So  how  long  do  you  give  me — weeks  ?  Too  generous 
an  estimate?  A  week,  then  or — well — less?  " 

"  You  want  it  straight?  " 

"  I  want  it  straight." 


458  DEADHAM  HARD 

"  More  likely  days.  God  grant  I  am  mistaken.  With 
your  fine  constitution,  as  I  tell  you,  you  are  booked  to  put 
up  a  good  fight.  All  the  same,  to  be  honest,  Sir  Charles,  it 
was  touch  and  go  more  than  once  last  night." 

In  the  room  an  interval  of  silence,  and  without  song  of 
the  robins  and  murmur  of  the  sea,  nearer  now  and  louder 
as  the  rising  tide  lapped  up  the  sands  at  the  back  of  the 
Bar.  The  faint  yellow-pink  afterthought  of  sunrise  and 
pencillings  of  tarnished  cloud  alike  had  vanished  into  the 
all-obtaining  misty  blue  of  the  upper  sky.  Heading  for  the 
French  coast,  a  skein  of  wild  geese  passed  in  wedge-shaped 
formation  with  honking  cries  and  the  beat  of  strong-winged 
flight.  The  barrow  creaked  again,  wheeled  some  few  yards 
further  along  the  battery  walk. 

"  Thanks — so  I  supposed,"  Sir  Charles  Verity  calmly 
said. 

He  stretched  himself,  falling  into  a  less  constrained  and 
careful  posture.  Leaned  his  elbow  on  the  chair-arm,  his 
chin  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand,  crossed  the  right  leg  over 
the  left. 

"  Twenty-four  hours  will  give  me  time  for  all  which  is 
of  vital  importance.  The  rest  must,  and  no  doubt  perfectly 
will,  arrange  itself. — Oh!  I'll  obey  you  within  reasonable 
limits,  McCabe.  I  have  no  craving  to  hurry  the  inevitable 
conclusion.  These  last  hours  possess  considerable  signifi- 
cance and  charm — an  impressiveness  even,  which  it  would 
be  folly  to  thrust  aside  or  waste." 

Once  more  he  looked  up,  his  tone  and  expression  devoid 
now  of  all  bitterness. 

"  I  propose  to  savour  their  pleasant  qualities  to  the 
full.  So  make  yourself  easy,  my  good  fellow,"  he  con- 
tinued with  an  admirable  friendliness.  "  Go  and  get  your 
breakfast.  Heaven  knows  you've  most  thoroughly  earned 
it,  and  a  morning  pipe  of  peace  afterwards. — The  bell  upon 
the  small  table? — Yes — oh,  yes — and  Hordle  within  ear- 
shot. I've  everything  I  require;  and,  at  the  risk  of  seem- 
ing ungrateful,  shall  be  glad  enough  of  a  respite  from  this 
course  of  food  and  drink,  potions  and  poultices — remedial 
to  the  delinquent  flesh  no  doubt,  but  a  notable  weariness 


459 

to  the  spirit. — And,  see  here,  report  to  the  two  ladies,  my 
sister  and — and  Damaris,  that  you  leave  me  in  excellent 
case,  free  of  discomfort,  resting  for  a  time  before  girding 
up  my  loins  to  meet  the  labours  of  the  day." 

Charles  Verity  closed  his  eyes  in  intimation  of  dismissal, 
anxious  to  be  alone  the  better  to  reckon  with  that  deeper, 
final  loneliness  which  confronted  him  just  now  in  all  its 
relentless  logic. 

For,  though  his  mind  remained  lucid,  self-realized  and 
observant,  his  control  of  its  action  and  direction  was  in- 
complete owing  to  bodily  fatigue.  Hence  it  lay  open 
to  assault,  at  the  mercy  of  a  thousand  and  one  crowding 
thoughts  and  perceptions.  And  over  these  he  desired  to 
gain  ascendency — to  drive,  rather  than  be  driven  by  them. 
The  epic  of  his  three-score  years,  from  its  dim,  illusive 
start  to  this  dramatic  and  inexorable  finish — but  instantly 
disclosed  to  him  in  the  reluctant  admissions  of  the  good- 
hearted  Irish  doctor — flung  by  at  a  double,  in  coloured  yet 
incoherent  progression,  so  to  speak,  now  marching  to 
triumphant  blare  of  trumpet,  now  to  roll  of  muffled  drum. 
"Which  incoherence  came  in  great  measure  of  the  inalien- 
able duality  of  his  own  nature — passion  and  austerity,  arro- 
gance and  self-doubt,  love — surpassing  most  men's  capacity 
of  loving — and  a  defacing  strain  of  cruelty,  delivering 
stroke  and  counterstroke.  From  all  such  tumult  he 
earnestly  sought  to  be  delivered;  since  not  the  thing  ac- 
complished— whether  for  fame,  for  praise  or  for  remorse 
— not,  in  short,  what  has  been,  but  what  was,  and  still  more 
what  must  soon  be,  did  he  need,  at  this  juncture,  dispas- 
sionately to  contemplate. 

That  sharp-toothed  disappointment  gnawed  him,  is  un- 
deniable, when  he  thought  of  the  culminating  gift  of  happy 
fortune,  royally  satisfying  to  ambition,  as  unexpectedly 
offered  him  as,  through  his  own  unlooked-for  and  tragic 
disability,  it  was  unexpectedly  withdrawn.  But  disap- 
.pointment  failed  to  vex  him  long.  A  more  wonderful 
journey  than  any  possible  earthly  one,  a  more  majestic 
adventure  than  that  of  any  oriental  proconsulship,  awaited 
him.  For  no  less  a  person  than  Death  issued  the  order — 


460  DEADHAM  HARD 

an  order  there  is  no  disobeying.    He  must  saddle  up  there- 
fore, bid  farewell,  and  ride  away. 

Nor  did  he  flinch  from  that  ride  with  Death,  the  black 
captain,  as  escort,  any  more  than,  during  the  past  night,  he 
had  flinched  under  the  grip  of  mortal  pain.  For  some 
persons  the  call  to  endurance  brings  actual  pleasure — 
of  a  grim  heroic  kind.  It  did  so  to  Charles  Verity.  And 
not  only  this  conscious  exercise  of  fortitude,  this  pride  of 
bearing  bodily  anguish,  but  a  strange  curiosity  worked  to 
sustain  him.  The  novelty  of  the  experience,  in  both  cases, 
excited  and  held  his  interest,  continued  to  exercise  it  and 
to  hold. 

Now,  as  in  solitude  his  mental  atmosphere  acquired 
serenity  and  poise — the  authority  of  the  past  declining — 
this  matter  of  death  increasingly  engrossed  him.  For  it 
trenches  on  paradox,  surely,  that  the  one  absolutely  certain 
event  in  every  human  career  is  also  the  most  unexplored 
and  practically  incredible. — An  everyday  occurrence,  a 
commonplace,  concerning  which  there  remains  nothing  new, 
nothing  original,  to  be  written,  sung  or  said;  yet  a  mys- 
tery still  inviolate,  aching  with  the  alarm  of  the  undis- 
covered, the  unpenetrated,  to  each  individual  summoned 
to  accept  its  empire!  He  had  sent  others  to  their  death. 
Now  his  own  turn  came  and  he  found  it,  however  calmly 
considered,  a  rather  astounding  business.  An  ending  or  a 
beginning? — Useless,  after  all,  to  speculate.  The  worst 
feature  of  it,  not  improbably,  this  same  preliminary  loneli- 
ness, this  stripping  naked,  no  smallest  comfort  left  you 
of  human  companionship,  or  even  of  humble  material  keep- 
sake from  out  the  multitude  of  your  familiar  possessions 
here  in  the  dear  accustomed  human  scene. 

The  gates  of  death  open.  You  pass  them.  They  close 
behind  you.  And  what  then? — The  whole  hierarchy  of 
heaven,  the  whole  company  of  your  forerunners  thither — 
beloved  and  honoured  on  earth — may  be  gathered  to  hail 
the  homing  soul  within  those  amazing  portals;  or  it  may 
drop,  as  a  stone  into  a  well,  down  the  blank  nothingness  of 
the  abyss. — Of  all  gambles  invented  by  God,  man  or  devil 
*— so  he  told  himself — this  daily,  hourly  gamble  of  in- 


THROUGH  SHADOWS  TOWARDS  DAWN     461 

dividual  dissolution  is  the  biggest.  Man's  heart  refuses  the 
horror  of  extinction,  while  his  intellect  holds  the  question 
in  suspense.  We  hope.  We  believe.  From  of  old  fair 
promises  have  been  made  us ;  and,  granted  the  gift  of  faith, 
hope  and  belief  neighbour  upon  assurance.  But  certainty 
is  denied.  No  mortal,  still  clothed  in  flesh,  has  known, 
nor — the  accumulated  science  of  the  ages  notwithstand- 
ing— does  know,  actually  and  exactly,  that  which  awaits  it. 

Thus,  anyhow,  in  the  still,  tender  brightness  of  the 
autumn  morning,  while  Nature  and  men  alike  pursued  their 
normal  activities  and  occupations,  did  this  singular  matter 
appear  to  Charles  Verity — he,  himself,  arbitrarily  cut  off 
from  all  such  activities  and  occupations  in  the  very  moment 
of  high  fruition.  Had  death  been  a  less  eminent  affair,  or 
less  imminent,  the  sarcasm  of  his  position  might  have 
seemed  gross  to  the  point  of  insult.  But,  the  longer  he 
envisaged  it,  the  more  did  the  enduring  enigma  and  its 
accompanying  uncertainty,  allure.  Not  as  victim,  but 
rather  as  conqueror  of  the  final  terror,  did  he  begin  to 
regard  himself. 

Meanwhile,  though  reason  continued  to  hold  the  balance 
even  between  things  positively  known  and  things  imagined 
only  and  hoped  for,  the  godward  impulse  strengthened  in 
him.  Not  by  conscious  or  convincing  argument  from 
within,  but  by  all-powerful  compulsion  from  without,  was 
his  thought  borne  onward  and  upward  to  increasing  confi- 
dence. So  that  he  asked  himself — as  so  many  another, 
still  unwearied,  still  enamoured  of  attainment,  has  asked 
in  like  case — whether  impending  divorce  of  soul  and  body 
may  not  confer  freedom  of  a  wider  range  and  nobler 
quality,  powers  more  varied  and  august  than  the  mind, 
circumscribed  by  conditions  of  time  and  sense,  has  yet 
conception  of? 

To  him  such  development  seemed  possible— certainly. 
Probable? — Ah,  well,  perhaps — perhaps.  Which  brought 
him  back  to  his  former  contention,  that  its  inherent  loneli- 
ness constitutes  the  bitterest  sting  of  death.  Smiling,  he 
quoted  the  ancient,  divinely  tender  saying:  "  There  is  a 
child  in  each  one  of  us  which  cries  at  the  dark." 


462  DEADHAM  HARD 

While,  in  swift  reaction,  he  yearned  towards  battle  where, 
amid  the  fierce  and  bloody  glory  of  the  fight,  souls  of 
heroes  troop  forth  together,  shouting,  into  everlasting  day, 
or — sceptical  reason  shaking  a  sadly  sage  head  once  again 
into  everlasting  night. 

He  stretched  out  his  hand  instinctively  for  the  bell  on 
the  little  table  at  his  elbow.  Hordle  answered  his  sum- 
mons, grey  of  countenance  from  alarm,  anxiety,  and  broken 
rest. 

' '  Let  Miss  Damaris  know  I  shall  be  glad  to  see  her  when 
she  is  free  to  come  to  me, ' '  he  said. 

And  here,  although  our  damsel's  reputation  for  courage 
and  resource  may,  thereby,  sustain  some  damage,  I  am 
constrained  to  state  that  while  in  the  sick-room  Miss 
Felicia  shone,  Damaris  gave  off  but  a  vacillating  and  in- 
effective light. 

Imagination  is  by  no  means  invariably  beneficent.  The 
very  liveliness  of  the  perceptions  which  it  engenders  may 
intimidate  and  incapacitate.  Upon  Damaris  imagination 
practised  this  mischief.  Becoming,  for  the  time,  that  upon 
which  she  looked,  sharing  every  pang  and  even  embroider- 
ing the  context,  she  weakened,  in  some  sort,  to  the  level 
of  the  actual  sufferer,  helpless  almost  as  he  through  the 
drench  of  overwhelming  sympathy.  She  had  been  taken, 
poor  child,  at  so  villainous  a  disadvantage.  Without  prepa- 
ration or  warning — save  of  the  most  casual  and  inadequate 
— her  humour  wayward,  she  a  trifle  piqued,  fancying  her 
pretty  clothes,  her  pretty  looks,  excited,  both  by  the  bril- 
liant prospect  presented  by  the  Indian  appointment  and 
by  her  delicate  passage  of  arms  with  Carteret,  she  was 
compelled  of  a  sudden  to  witness  the  bodily  torment  of  a 
human  being,  not  only  by  her  beloved  beyond  all  others,  but 
reverenced  also.  The  impression  she  received  was  of  out- 
rage, almost  of  blasphemy.  The  cruelty  of  life  lay  un- 
covered, naked  and  open  to  her  appalled  and  revolted 
consciousness.  She  received  a  moral,  in  addition  to  a 
physical  shock,  utterly  confounding  in  its  crudity,  its 
primitive  violence. 

The  ravage  of  pain  can  be,  in  great  measure,  surmounted 


THROUGH  SHADOWS  TOWARDS  DAWN     463 

and  concealed ;  but  that  baser  thing,  functional  disturbance 
\ — in  this  case  present  as  heart  spasm,  threatening  suffoca- 
tion, with  consequent  agonized  and  uncontrollable  struggle 
for  breath — defies  concealment.  This  manifestation  hor- 
rified Damaris.  The  more  so  that,  being  unacquainted 
with  the  sorry  spectacle  of  disease,  her  father,  under  the 
deforming  stress  of  it,  appeared  to  her  as  a  stranger  almost 
— inaccessible  to  affection,  hideously  removed  from  her  and 
remote.  His  person  and  character,  to  her  distracted  ob- 
servation, were  altered  beyond  recognition  except  during 
intervals,  poignant  to  the  verge  of  heart-break,  when  pass- 
ing ease  restored  his  habitual  dignity  and  grace. 

Thus,  while  Miss  Felicia  and  Carteret — with  Hordle  and 
Mary  Fisher  as  assistants — ministered  to  his  needs  in  as 
far  as  ministration  was  possible,  she  stood  aside,  con- 
sumed by  misery,  voluntarily  effacing  herself.  Backed 
away  even  against  the  wall,  out  of  range  of  the  lamplight, 
stricken,  shuddering,  and  mute.  Upon  Dr.  McCabe's  ar- 
rival and  assumption  of  command,  Carteret,  finding  him- 
self at  liberty  to  note  her  piteous  state,  led  her  out  into 
the  passage  and  then  to  the  long  drawing-room,  with  gentle 
authority.  There  for  a  half-hour  or  more — to  him  sadly 
and  strangely  sweet — he  sat  beside  her,  while  the  tears 
silently  coursed  down  her  cheeks,  letting  her  poor  proud 
head  rest  against  his  shc^lder,  his  arm  supporting  her 
gracious  young  body  still  clothed  in  all  the  bravery  of  her 
flowered  silken  sunshine  dress. 

Later,  Mary  bringing  more  favourable  news  of  Sir 
Charles — pain  and  suffocation  having  yielded  for  the  time 
being  to  McCabe's  treatment — Carteret  persuaded  her  to 
go  upstairs  and  let  the  said  Mary  put  her  to  bed.  Once 
there  she  slept  the  sleep  of  exhaustion,  fatigue  and  sorrow 
mercifully  acting  as  a  soporific,  her  capacity  for  further 
thought  or  feeling  literally  worn  out. 

During  that  session  in  the  drawing-room  Damaris,  to  his 
thankfulness,  had  asked  no  questions  of  him.  All  she  de- 
manded child-like,  in  her  extremity,  had  been  the  comfort 
and  security  of  human  contact.  And  this  he  gave  her 
simply,  ungrudgingly,  with  a  high  purity  of  understanding, 


464  DEADHAM  HARD 

guiltless  of  any  shadow  of  embarrassment  or  any  after- 
thought. Their  lighter,  somewhat  enigmatic  relation  of  the 
earlier  evening  was  extinguished,  swamped  by  the  catas- 
trophe of  Charles  Verity's  illness.  Exactly  in  how  far  she 
gauged  the  gravity  of  that  illness  and  its  only  too  likely 
result,  or  merely  wept,  unnerved  by  the  distressing  out- 
ward aspect  of  it,  Carteret  could  not  determine.  But  he 
divined,  and  rightly,  that  she  was  in  process  of  ranging 
herself,  at  least  subconsciously,  with  a  new  and  terrible  ex- 
perience which,  could  she  learn  the  lesson  of  it  aright, 
would  temper  her  nature  to  worthy  issues. 

Hence,  with  a  peculiar  and  tender  interest,  he  watched 
her  when,  coming  down  in  the  morning,  he  found  her  al- 
ready in  the  dining-room,  the  pleasant  amenities  of  a  well- 
ordered,  hospitable  house  and  household  abundantly  evi- 
dent. 

Whatever  the  tragic  occurrences  of  the  last  twelve  hours, 
domestic  discipline  was  in  no  respect  relaxed.  The  at- 
mosphere of  the  room  distilled  a  morning  freshness.  Furni- 
ture and  flooring  shone  with  polish,  a  log  fire,  tipped  by 
dancing  flames,  burned  in  the  low  wide  grate.  Upon  the 
side-table,  between  the  westward  facing  windows,  a  row 
of  silver  chafing-dishes  gave  agreeable  promise  of  varied 
meats;  as  did  the  tea  and  coffee  service,  arrayed  before 
Damaris,  of  grateful  beverage.  While  she  herself  looked 
trim,  and  finished  in  white  silk  shirt  and  russet-red 
suit,  her  toilet  bearing  no  sign  of  indifference  or  of 
haste. 

That  her  complexion  matched  her  shirt  in  colour — or 
rather  in  all  absence  of  it — that  her  face  was  thin,  its  con- 
tours hardened,  her  eyebrows  drawn  into  a  little  frown,  her 
eyes  enormous,  sombre  and  clouded  as  with  meditative 
thought,  increased,  in  Carteret 's  estimation,  assurance  of 
her  regained  self-mastery  and  composure.  Nor  did  a'  reti- 
cence in  her  manner  displease  him. 

"  I  have  persuaded  Aunt  Felicia  to  breakfast  upstairs," 
she  told  him.  "  Dr.  McCabe  sends  me  word  he — my  father 
— wishes  to  rest  for  the  present,  so  I  engaged  Aunt  Felicia 
to  rest  too.  She  was  wonderful." 


THROUGH  SHADOWS  TOWARDS  DAWN     465 

Damaris'  voice  shook  slightly,  as  did  her  hand  lifting  the 
coffee-pot. 

She  stayed  up  all  night.    So  did  you,  I  'm  afraid,  didn't 
you,  Colonel  Sahib?  " 

"  Oh,  for  me  that  was  nothing.  A  bath,  a  change,  and 
ten  minutes  out  there  on  the  battery  watching  the  sun  come 
up  over  the  sea,"  Carteret  said.  "  So  don't  waste  com- 
passion on  me.  I'm  as  fit  as  a  fiddle  and  in  no  wise  de- 
serve it." 

'  Ah!  but  you  and  Aunt  Felicia  did  stay,"  she  repeated, 
her  hands  still  rather  tremulously  busy  with  coffee-pot 
and  milk  jug.  "  You  were  faithful  and  I  no  better  than 
a  shirker.  I  fell  through,  miserably  lost  myself,  which  was 
selfish,  contemptible.  I  am  ashamed.  Only  I  was  so 
startled.  I  never  really  knew  before  such— such  things 
could  be. — Forgive  me,  Colonel  Sahib.  I  have  been  to 
Aunt  Felicia  and  asked  her  forgiveness  already. — And 
don't  think  too  meanly  of  me,  please.  The  shirking  is  over 
and  done  with  for  always.  You  may  trust  me  it  never  will 
happen  again — my  losing  myself  as  I  did  last  night,  I 
mean." 

In  making  this  appeal  for  leniency,  her  eyes  met 
Carteret 's  fairly  for  the  first  time;  and  he  read  in  them, 
not  without  admiration  and  a  twinge  of  pain,  both  the 
height  of  her  new-born,  determined  valour  and  the  depth 
of  her  established  distress. 

"  You  needn't  tell  me  that,  you  needn't  tell  me  that, 
dear  witch,"  he  answered  quickly.  "  I  was  sure  of  it  all 
along.  I  knew  it  was  just  a  phase  which  would  have  no 
second  edition.  So  put  any  question  of  shame  or  need  of 
forgiveness  out  of  your  precious  head.  You  were  rushed 
up  against  circumstances,  against  a  revelation,  calculated 
to  stagger  the  most  seasoned  campaigner.  You  did  not 
shirk;  but  it  took  you  a  little  time  to  get  your  bearings. 
That  was  all.  Don't  vex  your  sweet  soul  with  quite  super- 
fluous reproaches. — Sugar?  Yes,  and  plenty  of  it  I  am 
afraid. — But  you,  too,  must  eat." 

And  on  her  making  some  show  of  repugnance — 

"  See  here,  we  can't  afford  to  despise  the  day  of  small 


466  DEADHAM  HARD 

things,  of  minor  aids  to  efficiency,  dearest  witch,"  he  wisely 
admonished  her. 

Whereupon,  emulous  to  please  him,  bending  her  will  to 
his,  Damaris  humbled  herself  to  consumption  of  a  portion 
of  the  contents  of  the  chafing-dishes  aforesaid.  To  discover 
that,  granted  a  healthy  subject,  sorrow  queerly  breeds 
hunger,  the  initial  distaste  for  food — in  the  main  a  senti- 
mental one — once  surmounted. 

Later  McCabe  joined  them.  Recognized  Damaris'  atti- 
tude of  valour,  and  inwardly  applauded  it,  although  him- 
self in  woeful  state.  For  he  was  hard  hit,  badly  upset. 
Conscious  of  waste  of  tissue,  he  set  about  to  restore  it  with- 
out apology  or  hesitation,  trouble  putting  an  edge  to  ap- 
petite in  his  case  also,  and  that  of  formidable  keenness. 
Bitterly  he  grieved,  since  bearing  the  patient,  he  feared 
very  certainly  to  lose,  an  uncommon  affection.  He  loved 
Charles  Verity;  while,  from  the  worldly  standpoint,  his 
dealings  with  The  Hard  meant  very  much  to  him — made 
for  glory,  a  feather  in  his  cap  visible  to  all  and  envied  by 
many.  Minus  the  fine  flourish  of  it  his  position  sank  to 
obscurity.  As  a  whist-playing,  golf-playing,  club-haunting, 
Anglo-Indian  ex-civil  surgeon — and  Irishman  at  that — liv- 
ing in  lodgings  at  Stourmouth,  he  commanded  meagre  con- 
sideration. But  as  chosen  medical-attendant  and,  in  some 
sort,  retainer  of  Sir  Charles  Verity  he  ranked.  The  county 
came  within  his  purview.  Thanks  to  this  connection  with 
The  Hard  he,  on  occason,  rubbed  shoulders  with  the  locally 
great.  Hence  genuine  grief  for  his  friend  was  black- 
1  bordered  by  the  prospect  of  impending  social  and  mundane 
loss.  The  future  frowned  on  him.  view  it  in  what  terms 
he  might.  To  use  his  own  unspoken  phrase,  he  felt  "  in 
hellishly  low  water." 

One  point  in  particular  just  now  worried  him.  Thus, 
as  fish,  eggs,  porridge,  hot  cakes,  honey,  and  jam  disap- 
peared in  succession,  he  opened  himself  to  Damaris  and 
Carteret.  A  difficult  subject,  namely  that  of  a  second 
opinion. — Let  no  thought  of  any  wounding  of  his  suscepti- 
bilities operate  against  the  calling  in  of  such.  He  was 
ready  and  willing  to  meet  any  fellow  practitioner  they 


THROUGH  SHADOWS  TOWARDS  DAWN     467 

might  select— a  Harley  Street  big-wig,  or  Dr.  Maskall,  of 
Harehester,  whose  advice  in  respect  of  cardiac  trouble  was 
wide  sought. 

He  had,  however,  but  just  launched  the  question  when 
Hordle  entered  and,  walking  to  the  head  of  the  table,  ad- 
dressed Damaris. 

"  Sir  Charles  desires  me  to  say  he  will  be  glad  to  see 
you,  miss,  when  you  are  at  liberty,"  he  told  her  in  muf- 
fled accents. 

She  sprang  up,  to  pause  an  instant,  irresolute,  glancing 
wide-eyed  at  Carteret. 

He  had  risen  too.  Coming  round  the  corner  of  the  table, 
he  drew  back  her  chair,  put  his  hand  under  her  elbow, 
went  with  her  to  the  door. 

"  There  is  nothing  to  dread,  dearest  witch,"  he  gently 
and  quietly  said.  "  Have  confidence  in  yourself.  God 
keep  you — and  him. — Now  you  are  quite  ready!  That's 
right.— Well,  then  go." 

Carteret  waited,  looking  after  her  until,  crossing  the 
hall  followed  by  Hordle,  she  passed  along  the  corridor  out 
of  sight.  Silent,  preoccupied,  he  closed  the  door  and  took 
a  turn  the  length  of  the  room  before  resuming  his  place 
at  the  opposite  side  of  the  table  to  McCabe,  facing  the  light. 

The  doctor,  who  had  ceased  eating  and  half  risen  to  his 
feet  at  the  commencement  of  this  little  scene,  watched  it 
throughout ;  at  first  indifferent,  a  prey  to  his  own  worries, 
but  soon  in  quickening  interest,  shrewd  enquiry  and  finally 
in  dawning  comprehension. 

"  Holy  Mother  of  Mercy,  so  that's  the  lay  of  the  land,  is 
it?  "  and  his  loose  lips  shaped  themselves  to  a  whistle,  yet 
emitted  no  sound.  To  obliterate  all  signs  of  which  tendency 
to  vulgar  expression  of  enlightenment  he  rubbed  moustache, 
mouth  and  chin  with  his  napkin,  studying  Carteret  closely 
meanwhile. 

"  In  the  pink  of  condition,  by  Gad — good  for  a  liberal 
twenty  years  yet,  and  more — bar  accident.  Indefinite  post- 
ponement of  the  grand  climacteric  in  this  case. — All  the 
same  a  leetle,  lee-tie  bit  dangerous,  I  'm  thinking,  for  both, 
if  she  tumbles  to  it." 


468  DEADHAM  HARD 

Then  aloud — "  Has  the  poor  darling  girl  grasped  the 
meaning  of  her  father's  illness  do  you  make  out,  Colonel, 
grasped  the  ugly  eventualities  of  it?  " 

Carteret  slowly  brought  his  glance  to  bear  on  the  speaker. 

"  I  believe  so,  though  she  has  not  actually  told  me  as 
much, ' '  he  said — ' '  And  now  about  this  question  of  a  second 
opinion,  McCabe?  " 

The  easily  huffed  Irishman  accepted  the  reproof  in 
the  best  spirit  possible,  as  confirming  his  own  perspi- 
cacity. 

"  Quite  so.  Flicked  him  neatly  on  the  raw,  and  he 
winced.  All  the  same  he's  a  white  man,  a  real  jewel  of  a 
fellow,  worthy  of  good  fortune  if — the  ball's  thrown  his 
way.  I  wonder  how  long,  by-the-by,  this  handsome  game's 
been  a-playing?  " 

With  which,  as  requested,  he  returned  to  the  rival  claims 
of  Harley  Street  and  Harchester  in  respect  of  a  consulting 
physician. 

Carteret  proved  a  faithful  prophet,  for  in  truth  there 
was  nothing  to  dread  the  beloved  presence  once  entered,  as 
Damaris  thankfully  registered. 

The  sun  by  now  topped  the  hollies  and  shone  into  the 
study,  flinging  a  bright  slanting  pathway  across  the  dim 
crimson,  scarlet  and  blue  of  the  Turkey  carpet.  Charles 
Verity  stood,  in  an  open  bay  of  the  great  window,  looking 
out  over  the  garden.  Seen  thus,  in  the  still  sunlight,  the  tall 
grey-clad  figure  possessed  all  its  accustomed,  slightly  arro- 
gant repose.  Damaris  thrilled  with  exalted  hope.  For  the 
young  are  slow  to  admit  even  the  verdict  of  fact  as  final. 
His  attitude  was  so  natural,  so  unstrained  and  unstudied, 
that  the  message  of  ghostly  warning  yesterday  evening  was 
surely  discounted ;  while  the  subsequent  terror  of  the  night, 
that  hideous  battle  with  pain  and  suffocation,  became  to  her 
incredible,  an  evil  dream  from  which,  in  grateful  ecstasy, 
she  now  awoke. 

Her  joy  found  expression. 

"  Dearest,  dearest,  you  sent  for  me. — Is  it  to  let  me  see 
you  are  really  better,  more  beautifully  recovered  than  they 
told  me  or  I  ventured  to  suppose?  " 


THROUGH  SHADOWS  TOWARDS  DAWN     469 

Her  voice  broke  under  a  gladness  midway  between  tears 
and  laughter. 

'  The  envious  blades  of  Atropos'  scissors  have  not  cut 
the  mortal  thread  yet  anyhow,"  he  answered,  smiling,  per- 
mitting himself  the  classic  conceit  as  a  screen  to  possible 
emotion.  '  But  we  won't  build  too  much  on  the  clemency 
of  Fate.  How  long  she  proposes  to  wait  before  closing  her 
scissors  it  is  idle  to  attempt  to  say." 

He  laid  his  hands  on  Damaris'  shoulders.  Bent  his  head 
and  kissed  her  upward  pouted  lips— thereby  hushing  the 
loving  disclaimer  which  rose  to  them. 

( '  So  we  will  keep  on  the  safe  side  of  the  event,  my  wise 
child,"  he  continued.  "  Make  all  our  preparations  and 
thus  deny  the  enemy  any  satisfaction  of  taking  us  un- 
awares.— Can  you  write  a  business  letter  for  me?  " 

"  A  dozen,  dearest,  if  you  wish,"  Damaris  assented 
eagerly.  Yet  that  image  of  the  scissors  stayed  by  her. 
Already  her  joy  was  sensibly  upon  the  wane. 

"Oh!  one  will  be  sufficient,  I  think — quite  sufficient  for 
this  morning." 

Charles  Verity  turned  his  head,  looking  seaward  through 
the  tranquil  sunshine. 

"  That  Indian  appointment  has  to  be  suitably  thanked 
for  and — declined." 

Damaris  drew  back  a  step  so  as  to  gain  a  clearer  view 
of  him.  The  hands  resting  on  her  shoulders  were  oddly 
inert,  so  she  fancied,  forceless  and  in  temperature  cold. 
Even  through  the  thickness  of  cloth  jacket  and  silk  shirt  she 
was  aware  of  their  lifelessness  and  chill.  This  roused  re- 
bellion in  her.  Her  instinct  was  for  fight.  She  made  a 
return  on  McCabe's  suggestion  regarding  further  advice. 
She  would  demand  a  consultation,  call  in  expert  opinion. 
The  dear  man  with  the  blue  eyes — here  her  white  face 
flushed  rosy — would  manage  all  that  for  her,  and  com- 
pel help  in  the  form  of  the  last  word  of  medical  science 
and  skill. 

"  Might  not  your  letter  be  put  off  for  just  a  few  days?  " 

she  pleaded,  "  in  case — until  " 

But  Charles  Verity  broke  in  before  she  could  finish  her 


470  DEADHAM  HARD  x 

tender  protest,  a  sadness,  even  hint  of  bitterness  in  his  tone. 

' '  You  covet  this  thing  so  much, ' '  he  said.  ' '  Your  heart 
is  so  set  on  it  ?  ' ' 

She  made  haste  to  reassure  him. — No,  no  not  that  way, 
not  for  her.  How  could  it  signify,  save  on  his  account? 
She  only  cared  because  greedy  of  his  advancement,  greedy 
to  have  him  exalted — placed  where  he  belonged,  on  the 
summit,  the  apex,  so  that  all  must  perceive  and  acknowledge 
his  greatness.  As  to  herself — and  the  flush  deepened,  mak- 
ing her  in  aspect  deliciously  youthful  and  ingenious — she 
confessed  misgivings.  Reported  her  talk  with  Carteret  con- 
cerning the  subject,  and  the  scolding  received  from  him 
thereupon. 

"  One  more  reason  for  writing  in  the  sense  I  propose, 
then, ' '  her  father  declared,  ' '  since  it  sets  your  over-modest 
doubts  and  qualms  at  rest,  my  dear.  That  is  settled." 

His  hands  weighed  on  her  shoulders  as  though  he  sud- 
denly needed  and  sought  support. 

"  I  will  sit  down, "  he  said.  "  There  are  other  matters  to 
be  discussed,  and  I  can,  perhaps,  talk  more  easily  so." 

He  went  the  few  steps  across  to  the  red  chair.  Sank  into 
it.  Leaned  against  the  pillows,  bending  backward,  his 
hand  pressed  to  his  left  side.  His  features  contracted,  and 
his  breath  caught  as  of  one  spent  with  running.  And 
Damaris,  watching  him,  again  received  that  desolating  im- 
pression of  change,  of  his  being  in  spirit  far  removed, 
inaccessible  to  her  sympathy,  a  stranger.  He  had  gone 
away  and  rather  terribly  left  her  alone. 

"  Are  you  in  pain?  "  she  asked,  agonized. 

"  Discomfort,"  he  replied.  "  We  will  not  dignify  this 
by  the  name  of  pain.  But  I  must  wait  for  a  time  before 
dictating  the  letter.  There's  something  I  will  ask  you  to 
do  for  me,  my  dear,  meanwhile." 

"Yes" 

He  paused,  shifted  his  position,  closed  his  eyes. 

"  Have  you  held  any  communication  with " 

He  stopped,  for  the  question  irked  him.  Even  at  this 
pass  it  went  against  the  grain  with  him  to  ask  of  his 
daughter  news  of  his  son. 


THROUGH  SHADOWS  TOWARDS  DAWN     471 

But  in  that  pause  our  maiden's  scattered  wits  very  ef- 
fectually returned  to  her. 

"  With  Darcy  Faircloth?  "  she  said.  And  as  Charles 
Verity  bowed  his  head  in  assent — "  Yes,  I  should  have  told 
you  already  but — but  for  all  which  has  happened.  He  was 
here  the  day  before  yesterday.  He  came  home  from  church 
with  me. — That  was  my  doing,  not  his,  to  begin  with.  You 
mustn't  think  he  put  himself  forward — took  advantage, 
I  mean,  of  your  being  away.  If  there  is  any  blame  it  is 
mine." 

"  Mine,  rather — and  of  long  standing.  God  forgive 
me!  " 

But  Damaris,  fairly  launched  now  upon  a  wholly  wel- 
come topic,  would  have  none  of  this.  To  maintain  her 
own  courage,  and,  if  it  might  be,  combat  that  dreaded  with- 
drawal of  his  spirit  into  regions  where  she  could  not  follow, 
she  braced  herself  to  reason  with  him. 

"  No — there  indeed  you  are  mistaken,  dearest,"  she 
gently  yet  confidently  asserted.  "  You  take  the  whole 
business  topsy-turvy  fashion,  quite  wrong  way  round.  I 
won't  weary  you  with  explanations  of  exactly  what  led  to 
Darcy  Faircloth  coming  here  with  me  on  Sunday.  But  you 
ought  to  know  that  he  and  Aunt  Felicia  met.  I  hadn't 
planned  that.  It  just  happened.  And  she  was  lovely  to 
him — lovely  to  us  both.  She  made  him  stay  to  luncheon 
— inviting  him  in  your  name." 

"  I  seem  to  possess  a  singular  gift  for  saddling  my  re- 
lations with  the  payment  of  my  bad  debts,"  Charles  Verity 
remarked. 

"  But  there  isn't  any  bad  debt— that's  what  I  so  dearly 
want  you  to  believe,  what  I  'm  trying  so  bard,  Commissioner 
Sahib,  to  tell  you,"  Damaris  cried.  "  Afterwards,  when 
he  and  I  were  alone  by  ourselves,  the  ice  broke  somehow, 
he  gave  himself  away  and  said  beautiful  things — things 
about  you  which  made  me  delightfully  happy,  and  showed 
how  he  has  felt  towards  you  all  along." 

Simply,  without  picking  of  her  words,  hesitation  or  arti- 
fice, Damaris  repeated  that  somewhat  sinister  tale  of  the 
sea.  Of  a  sailing  ship,  becalmed  through  burning  days 


472  DEADHAM  HARD 

and  stifling  nights  in  tropic  waters.  Of  the  ill-doings  of  a 
brutal,  drunken  captain.  Of  a  fly-blown  eating-house  in 
Singapore.  Of  the  spiritual  deliverance  there  achieved 
through  sight  of  Charles  Verity's  name  and  successful 
record  in  the  columns  of  a  Calcutta  newspaper;  and  the 
boy's  resultant  demand  for  the  infliction  of  some  outward 
and  visible  sign,  some  inalienable  stigmata,  which  should 
bear  perpetual  witness  to  the  fact  of  his  parentage. 

"  So  you  see  " 

Damaris  kindled,  standing  before  him,  flamed  indeed  to 
a  rare  carelessness  of  convention,  of  enjoined  pruderies  and 
secrecies. 

"  You  gave  him  the  beautiful  gift  of  life  to  begin  with; 
and  saved  his  life  later  when  he  was  so  miserably  tempted 
to  end  it.  As  he  loves  life,  where  then  is  the  debt  ? — Not  on 
your  side  certainly,  dearest." 

Listening  to  which  fondly  exalted  sophistries — for  sophis- 
tries from  worldly  and  moral  standpoint  alike  must  he  not 
surely  pronounce  them  ? — Charles  Verity  still  received  com- 
fort to  his  soul.  They  ought  to  be  reckoned  mistaken,  of 
course,  transparently  in  error,  yet  neither  son  nor  daughter 
condemned  him.  Neither  did  his  sister,  in  the  pathetic 
innocence  and  purity  of  her  middle-age  maidenhood. 

This  moved  him  to  thankfulness,  none  the  less  genuine 
because  shot  with  self-mockery.  For  he  was  curious  to 
observe  how,  as  the  last  urgings  of  ambition  and  thirst  of 
power  fell  away  from  him, — he  riding  under  escort  of 
Death,  the  black  captain — all  tributes  of  human  tenderness 
and  approval  gained  in  value. — Not  the  approval  of  notable 
personages,  of  those  high  in  office,  nor  even  that  of  sym- 
pathetic critics  and  readers;  but  of  persons  in  his  own 
immediate  voisinage,  bound  to  him  by  friendship,  by  asso- 
ciation, or  the  tie  of  blood — Their  good-will  was  precious  to 
him  as  never  before.  He  craved  to  be  in  perfect  amity  with 
every  member  of  that  restricted  circle.  Hence  it  vexed  and 
fretted  him  to  know  the  circle  incomplete,  through  the  ex- 
clusion of  one  rather  flagrantly  intimate  example.  Yet 
to  draw  the  said  member,  the  said  example,  within  the 
circle,  yielding  it  the  place  which  it  might  rightfully  aspire 


THROUGH  SHADOWS  TOWARDS  DAWN     473 

to  occupy,  amounted— after  half  a  lifetime  of  abstention 
and  avoidance— to  a  rather  tremendous  demonstration,  one 
which  might  well  be  hailed  as  extravagant,  as  a  courting 
of  offence  possible  only  to  a  sentimental  egoist  of  most 
aggravated  kind. 

And  he  was  tired— had  no  smallest  inclination  towards 
demonstrations.  For  the  threatening  of  heart  spasm,  to 
which  he  lately  denied  the  title  of  pain,  though  of  short 
duration,  affected  him  adversely,  sapping  his  strength.  His 
mind,  it  is  true,  remained  clear,  even  vividly  receptive ;  but, 
just  as  earlier  this  morning,  his  will  proved  insufficient  for 
its  direction  or  control.  He  mused,  his  chin  sunk  on  his 
breast,  his  left  hand  travelling  down  over  the  long  soft 
moustache,  his  eyes  half  closed.  Thought  and  vision  fol- 
lowed their  own  impulse,  wandering  back  and  forth  be- 
tween the  low-caste  eating-house  in  the  sweltering  heat 
and  perfumed  stenches  of  the  oriental,  tropic  seaport ;  and 
the  stone-built  English  inn — here  on  Marychurch  Haven 
— overlooking  the  desolate  waste  of  sand-hills,  the  dark  reed- 
beds  and  chill  gleaming  tides. 

For  love  of  Damaris,  his  daughter,  while  still  in  the  heat 
of  his  prime,  he  had  foresworn  all  traffic  with  women.  Yet 
now,  along  with  the  tacitly  admitted  claims  of  the  son, 
arose  the  claim  of  the  mistress,  mother  of  that  son — in  no 
sensual  sort,  but  with  a  certain  wildness  of  bygone  romance, 
wind  and  rain-swept,  unsubstantial,  dim  and  grey.  Ever 
since  conviction  of  the  extreme  gravity  of  his  physical 
condition  dawned  on  him,  the  idea  of  penetrating  the 
courts  of  that  deserted  sanctuary  had  been  recurrent.  In 
the  summing  up  of  his  human,  his  earthly,  experience,  ro- 
mance deserved,  surely,  a  word  of  farewell  ?  Damaris'  story 
served  to  give  the  idea  a  fuller  appeal  and  consistency. 

But  he  was  tired — tired.  He  longed  simply  to  drift.  It 
was  infinitely  distasteful  to  him  definitely  to  plan,  or  to 
decide  respecting  anything. 

Meanwhile  his  continued  silence  and  abstraction  wore 
badly  upon  Damaris.  She  had  steeled  herself;  had  flamed, 
greatly  daring.  Now  reaction  set  in.  Her  effort  proved 
vain.  She  had  failed.  For  once  more  she  recognized  that 


474  DEADHAM  HARD 

an  unknown  influence,  a  power  dark  and  incalculably 
strong — so  she  figured  it — regained  ascendency  over  her 
father,  working  to  the  insidious  changing  of  his  nature, 
strangely  winning  him  away.  Waiting  for  some  response, 
some  speech  or  comment  on  his  part,  fear  and  the  sense 
of  helplessness  assailed,  and  would  have  submerged  her, 
had  she  not  clung  to  Carteret's  parting  "  God  bless  you  " 
and  avowed  faith  in  her  stability,  as  to  a  wonder-working 
charm.  Nor  did  the  charm  fail  in  efficacy. — Oh!  really  he 
was  a  wonderful  sheet-anchor,  "  the  shadow  of  a  great 
rock  in  a  weary  land, ' '  that  dear  man  with  the  blue  eyes ! 
Consciously  she  blessed  him. — And,  thanks  to  remembrance 
of  him,  presently  found  voice  and  purpose  once  again. 

"  You  aren't  displeased  with  me,  dearest?  "  she  asked. 

"  Displeased?  "  Charles  Verity  repeated,  at  first  ab- 
sently. "  Displeased,  my  dear,  no — why?  " 

' '  We  didn  't  do  wrong  ?  ' ' — labouring  the  point,  the  more 
fully  to  recall  and  retain  him — "  Didn't  take  too  much 
upon  ourselves — Aunt  Felicia,  I  mean,  and  I — by  per- 
suading Darcy  Faircloth  to  stay  on  Sunday,  by  entertain- 
ing him  when  you  were  away  ?  Or — or  have  I  been  stupid, 
dearest,  and  thoughtlessly  wearied  you  by  talking  too  much 
and  too  long  ?  ' ' 

"  Neither,"  he  said.  "  On  the  contrary,  all  you  have 
told  me  goes  to  lessen  certain  difficulties,  make  the  crooked, 
in  some  degree,  straight  and  rough  places  plain." 

For,  if  Faircloth  had  been  here  so  recently,  broken  bread 
too  in  the  house,  so  he  argued,  it  became  the  easier  to  bid 
him  return.  And  Charles  Verity  needed  to  see  him,  see 
him  this  morning — since  purpose  of  farewells,  to  be  spoken 
in  those  long-deserted  courts  of  romance,  stiffened,  becom- 
ing a  thing  not  merely  to  be  turned  hither  and  thither  in 
thought,  but  to  be  plainly  and  directly  done. — "  Send  for 
him  in  your  own  name,"  he  said.  "  Explain  to  him  how 
matters  stand,  and  ask  him  to  talk  with  me." 

And,  as  Damaris  agreed,  rejoiced  by  the  success  of  her 
adventurous  diplomacy,  making  to  go  at  once  and  give 
the  required  instructions — 

"  Stay — stay  a  moment,"  her  father  said,  and  drew  her 


THROUGH  SHADOWS  TOWARDS  DAWN     475 

down  to  sit  on  the  chair-arm,  keeping  her  hand  in  his,  and 
with  his  other  hand  stroking  it  wistfully.  For  though 
certain  difficulties  might  be  sensibly  lessened,  they  were 
not  altogether  removed ;  and  he  smiled  inwardly,  aware  that 
not  even  in  the  crack  of  doom  are  feminine  rights  over  a 
man  other  than  conflicting  and  uncommonly  ticklish  to 
adjust. 

'  Before  we  commit  ourselves  to  further  enterprises,  my 
darling,  let  us  quite  understand  one  another  upon  one  or 
two  practical  points — bearing  in  mind  the  blades  of 
Atropos'  envious  scissors.  My  affairs  are  in  order  " 

Damaris  shrank,  piteously  expostulated. 

"  Oh!  but  must  we,  are  we  obliged  to  speak  of  those 
things?  They  grate  on  me — Commissioner  Sahib,  they  are 
ugly.  They  hurt." 

"  Yes — distinctly  we  are  obliged  to  speak  of  them.  To 
do  so  can  neither  hasten  nor  retard  the  event.  All  the 
more  obliged  to  speak  of  them,  because  I  have  never  greatly 
cared  about  money,  except  for  what  I  could  do  with  it. — 
As  a  means,  of  vast  importance.  As  an  end,  uninteresting. 
— So  it  has  been  lightly  come  and  lightly  go,  I  am  afraid. 
All  the  same  I've  not  been  culpably  improvident.  A  por- 
tion of  my  income  dies  with  me;  but  enough  remains  to 
secure  you  against  any  anxiety  regarding  ways  and  means, 
if  not  to  make  you  a  rich  woman.  I  have  left  an  annuity 
to  your  Aunt  Felicia.  Her  means  are  slender,  dear  crea- 
ture, and  her  benevolence  outruns  them,  so  that  she  balances 
a  little  anxiously,  I  gather,  on  the  edge  of  debt.  The 
capital  sum  will  return  to  you  eventually.  Carteret  and 
McCabe  consented,  some  years  ago,  to  act  as  my  executors. 
Their  probity  and  honour  are  above  reproach. — Now  as  to 
this  place — if  you  should  ever  wish  to  part  with  it,  let  Fair- 
cloth  take  it  over.  I  have  made  arrangements  to  that 
effect,  about  which  I  will  talk  with  him  when  he  comes. — 
Have  no  fear  lest  I  should  say  that  which  might  wound  him. 
I  shall  be  as  careful,  my  dear,  of  his  proper  pride  as  of 
my  own. — Understand  I  have  no  desire  to  circumscribe 
either  your  or  his  liberty  of  action  unduly.  But  this  house, 
all  it  contains,  the  garden,  the  very  trees  I  see  from  these 


476  DEADHAM  HARD 

windows,  are  so  knitted  into  the  fabric  of  my  past  life  that 
I  shrink — -with  a  queer  sense  of  homelessness — from  any 
thought  of  their  passing  into  the  occupation  of  strangers. 
— Childish,  pitifully  weak-minded  no  doubt,  and  there- 
fore the  more  natural  that  one  should  crave  a  voice,  thus, 
in  the  disposition  of  what  one  has  learned  through  long 
usage  so  very  falsely  to  call  one's  own!  " 

"  We  will  do  exactly  what  you  wish,  even  to  the  littlest 
particular,  I  promise  you — both  for  Faircloth  and  for  my- 
self," Damaris  answered,  forcing  herself  to  calmness  and 
restraint  of  tears. 

He  petted  her  hands  silently  until,  as  the  minutes  passed, 
she  began  once  more  to  grow  fearful  of  that  dreadful  un- 
known influence  insidiously  possessing  him  and  winning 
him  away.  And  he  may  have  grown  fearful  of  it  too,  for 
lie  made  a  sharp  movement,  raising  his  shoulders  as  though 
striving  to  throw  off  some  weight,  some  encumbrance. 

"  There  is  an  end,  then,  of  business,"  he  said,  "  and  of 
such  worldly  considerations.  I  need  worry  you  with  them 
no  more.  Only  one  thing  remains,  of  which,  before  I  speak 
to  others,  it  is  only  seemly,  my  darling,  I  should  speak  to 
you." 

Charles  Verity  lifted  his  eyes  to  hers,  and  she  per- 
ceived his  spirit  as  now  in  nowise  remote;  but  close,  evi- 
dent almost  to  the  point  of  alarm.  It  looked  out  from  the 
wasted  face,  at  once — to  her  seeing — exquisite  and  austere, 
reaching  forward,  keenly  curious  of  all  death  should  re- 
veal, unmoved,  yet  instinct  with  the  brilliance,  the  mirth- 
fulness  even,  of  impending  portentous  adventure. 

"  You  know,  Damaris,  how  greatly  I  love  and  have 
loved  you — how  dear  you  have  been  to  me,  dearer  than 
the  satisfaction  of  my  own  flesh?  "  , 

Speech  was  beyond  her.  She  looked  back,  dazzled  and 
for  the  moment  broken. 

"  Therefore  it  goes  hard  with  me  to  ask  anything  which 
might,  ever  so  distantly,  cause  you  offence  or  distress.  Only 
time  presses.  We  are  within  sight  of  the  end." 

"Ah!  no — no,"  she  exclaimed,  wrenching  away  her 
hands  and  beating  them  together,  passion  of  affection,  of 


THROUGH  SHADOWS  TOWARDS  DAWN     477 

revolt  and  sorrow  no  more  to  be  controlled.  "  How  can 
I  bear  it,  how  can  I  part  with  you?  I  will  not,  I  will  not 
have  you  die.— McCabe  isn't  infallible.  We  must  call 
in  other  doctors.  They  may  be  cleverer,  may  suggest  new 
treatment,  new  remedies.  They  must  cure  you— or  if  they 
can't  cure,  at  least  keep  you  alive  for  me.  I  won't  have 
you  die!  " 

"  Call  in  whom  you  like,  as  many  as  you  like,  my  darling, 
the  whole  medical  faculty  if  it  serves  to  pacify  or  to  con- 
tent you, ' '  he  said,  smiling  at  ker. 

Damaris  repented.  Took  poor  passion  by  the  throat, 
stifling  its  useless  cries. 

"  I  tire  you.  I  waste  your  strength.  I  think  only  of 
myself,  of  my  own  grief,  most  beloved,  my  own  consum- 
ing grief  and  desolation.— See — I  will  be  good— I  am  good. 
"What  else  is  there  you  want  to  have  me  do?  " 

'  This — but  recollect  you  are  free  to  say  me  nay,  with- 
out scruple  or  hesitation.  I  shall  not  require  you  to  give 
your  reasons,  but  shall  bow,  unreservedly,  to  your  wishes. 
For  you  possess  a  touchstone  in  such  questions  as  the  one 
now  troubling  me,  which, -did  I  ever  possess  it,  I  lost,  as 
do  most  men,  rather  lamentably  early  in  my  career.  If 
you  suffer  me  to  do  so,  I  will  ask  Darcy  Faircloth  to  bring 
his  mother  here  to  me,  this  evening  at  dusk,  when  her 
coming  will  not  challenge  impertinent  observation — so  that 
I  may  be  satisfied  no  bitterness  colours  her  thought  of  me 
and  that  we  part  in  peace,  she  and  I." 

Damaris  got  up  from  her  seat  on  the  arm  of  the  red- 
covered  chair.  She  stood  rigid,  her  expression  reserved  to 
blankness,  but  her  head  carried  high. 

"  Of  course,"  she  said,  a  little  hoarsely,  and  waited. 
"  Of  course.  How  could  I  object?  Wasn't  it  superfluous 
even  to  ask  me  ?  Your  word,  dearest,  is  law. ' ' 

"  But  in  the  present  case  hardly  gospel?  " 

"  Yes — gospel  too—since  it  is  your  word.  Gospel,  that 
is,  for  me.  Let  Darcy  Faircloth  bring  his  mother  here  by 
all  means.  Only  I  think,  perhaps,  this  is  all  a  little  out- 
side my  province.  It  would  be  better  you  should  make 
the — the  appointment  with  him  yourself.  I  will  send  to 


478  DEADHAM  HARD 

him  directly.  Patch  can  take  a  note  over  to  the  island. 
I  would  prefer  to  have  Patch  go  as  messenger  than  either 
of  the  other  men." 

She  walked  towards  the  door.  Stopped  half-way  and 
turned,  hearing  her  father  move.  And  as  she  turned — her 
eyes  quick  with  enquiry  as  to  his  case,  but  inscrutable  as  to 
her  own — Charles  Verity  rose  too  and  held  out  his  arms 
in  supreme  invitation.  She  came  swiftly  forward  and 
kissed  him,  while  with  all  the  poor  measure  of  force  left 
him,  he  strained  her  to  his  breast. 

"  Have  I  asked  too  much  from  you,  Damaris,  and,  in 
the  desire  to  make  sure  of  peace  elsewhere,  endangered  the 
perfection  of  my  far  dearer  peace  with  you?  " 

She  leaned  back  from  the  waist,  holding  her  head  away 
from  him  and  laid  her  hand  on  his  lips. 

"  Don't  blaspheme,  most  beloved,"  she  said,  "  I  have  no 
will  but  yours." 

Again  she  kissed  him,  disengaged  herself  very  gently, 
and  went. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

CHAPTER    THE   EIGHTH    WHICH    IS    ALSO    CHAPTER   THE   LAST 

A'  Lady's  Oak — an  ancient  forest  boundary — where 
the  main  road  forks,  Damaris  swung  the  dog-cart 
to  the  left,  across  the  single-arch  stone  bridge  span- 
ning the  Arne;  and  on,  up  the  long  winding  ascent  from 
the  valley-bottom  to  the  moorlands  patched  with  dark  fir 
plantations,  which  range  inland  from  behind  Stourmouth. 
This  constituted  the  goal  of  her  journey ;  for,  the  high-lying 
plateau  reached,  leagues  of  open  country  are  disclosed  north 
and  west,  far  as  the  eye  carries,  to  the  fine  bare  outline  of 
the  Wiltshire  Downs.  She  asked  for  wide  prospects,  for 
air  and  ample  space;  but  as  floored  by  stable  earth  rather 
than  by  the  eternal  unrest  and  "  fruitless,  sonorous  fur- 
rows "  of  the  sea. 

Ever  since  the  day  of  the  funeral,  now  nearly  a  fort- 
night ago,  Damaris  had  kept  within  the  sheltering  privacy 
of  the  house  and  grounds.  That  day,  one  of  soft  drizzling 
rain  and  clinging  ground  fog,  had  also  been  to  her  one  of 
hardly  endurable  distraction.  Beneath  assumption  of 
respectful  silence,  it  jarred,  boomed,  took  notes,  debated, 
questioned.  Beneath  assumption  of  solemnity,  it  peeped 
and  stared.  Her  flayed  nerves  and  desolated  heart  plagued 
her  with  suspicions  of  insincerity. 

In  as  far  as  Colonel  Carteret  controlled  proceedings  all 
had  been  marked  by  reverent  simplicity.  But  where  the 
carcass  is,  the  eagles,  proverbially,  gather.  And  un- 
feathered  fowl,  in  their  own  estimation  eminently  repre- 
sentative of  that  regal  species,  flocked  to  Deadham  church 
and  to  The  Hard. 

If to  vary  our  metaphor— some,  in  the  past,  inclined  to 

stone  the  living  prophet,  these  now  outvied  one  another  in 
tkeir  alacrity  to  bedeck  his  tomb.  Dr.  Cripps,  for  example, 
hurried  to  offer  himself  as  pall-bearer— a  request  the  more 
readily  disposed  of  that  there  was  no  pall.  While  Arch- 

479 


480  DEADHAM  HARD 

deacon  Verity,  to  cite  a  second  example  and  from  a  higher 
social  level,  supported  by  his  elder  son  Pont  if  ex — domestic 
chaplain  to  the  Bishop  of  Har Chester — insisted  on  sharing 
with  Canon  Horniblow  the  melancholy  honour  of  reading 
the  burial  service. 

For  the  rest,  the  head,  and  lesser  members  of  the  family, 
from  the  big  house  at  Canton  Magna,  were  solidly,  not  to 
say  rather  aggressively  in  evidence.  With  them  Mrs. 
Cowden  and  her  husband-satellite,  the  Honourable 
Augustus  joined  forces  on  arriving  from  Paulton  Lacy. 
— Lord  Bulparc  drove  over  from  Napworth  Castle.  The 
country,  indeed,  showed  up  with  commendable  indifference 
to  depressing  atmospheric  conditions.  Marychurch  sent  a 
contingent  Stourmouth  followed  suit  in  the  shape  of 
General  Frayling — attended  by  Marshall  Wace  in  full 
clerical  raiment — bearing  a  wreath  of  palm,  violets,  and 
myrtle  wholly  disproportionate  in  bulk  and  circumference 
to  his  own  shrivelled  and  rather  tottery  form. — Of  this  un- 
looked-for advent  more  hereafter. — Other  distinguished 
soldiers  came  from  Aldershot  and  down  from  town.  A 
permanent  Under  Secretary,  correct  but  visibly  bored, 
represented  the  India  Office. 

The  parish,  neglecting  its  accustomed  industries  and 
occupations,  mustered  in  strength ;  incited  thereto,  not  only 
by  the  draw  of  recently  resurrected  scandal,  but  by  news  of 
the  appointment  recently  offered  Sir  Charles  Verity,  which 
had  somehow  got  noised  abroad.  The  irony  of  his  illness 
and  death  occurring  precisely  when  he  was  invited  to 
mount  nothing  less — according  to  local  report — than  an 
oriental  throne,  sufficed  to  stir  the  most  lethargic  imagina- 
tion. Moralists  of  the  Reginald  Sawyer  school  might  read 
in  this  the  direct  judgment  of  an  offended  deity.  Deadham, 
however,  being  reprehensibly  clannish,  viewed  the  incident 
otherwise;  and  questioned — thanks  to  an  ingeniously  in- 
verted system  of  reasoning— whether  the  said  Reginald 
Sawyer  hadn't  laid  himself  open  to  a  charge  of  man- 
slaughter or  of  an  even  graver  breach  of  the  Decalogue. 

Theresa  Bilson — in  whose  hat  artificial  buttercups  and 
daisies  hastily  made  room  for  bows  of  crape — lurked  in 


THROUGH  SHADOWS  TOWARDS  DAWN     481 

the  humble  obscurity  of  the  free  seats  near  the  west  door. 
To  right  and  left  she  was  flanked  by  a  guardian  Miss 
Minett;  but  these  ladies  to-day  were  but  broken  reeds  on 
which  to  lean.  They  still  laboured  under  a  sense  of  having 
been  compromised,  and  of  resultant  social  ostracism.  This, 
although  their  former  parsonic  lodger  had  vanished  from 
the  scene  on  the  day  following  his  threatened  immersion 
— a  half-hearted  proposition  on  his  part  of  "  facing  out  the 
undeserved  obloquy,  living  down  the  coarse  persecution  " 
meeting  with  as  scant  encouragement  from  his  ecclesiastical 
superior,  the  vicar,  as  from  themselves.  Theresa — it  really 
was  hard  on  her — shared  their  eclipse.  Hence  the  humble 
obscurity  of  the  free  seats,  where  she  sniffed,  dabbed  her 
eyes  and  gurgled,  unheeded  and  unseen. 

Finally  young  Tom  Verity — home  on  his  first  long  leave 
— having  accompanied  the  family  party  from  Canton 
Magna  and  feeling  his  sense  of  humour  unequal  to  the 
continued  strain  of  their  sublime  insularity,  benevolently 
herded  two  stately,  though  shivering,  turbanned  native 
gentlemen,  who  reached  Deadham  during  the  early  stages 
of  the  ceremony  no  one  quite  knew  whence  or  when.  In 
the  intervals  of  his  self-imposed  duties,  he  found  time  to 
admire  the  rich  unction  of  his  father,  the  Archdeacon's 
manner  and  voice. 

"  Plus  Qd  change,  plus  la  meme  chose,"  he  quoted  glee- 
fully. "  What  a  consummate  fraud  the  dear  old  governor 
is;  and  how  deliciously  innocent  of  the  fact,  that  he  im- 
poses upon  no  one  half  so  successfully  as  he  does  upon 
himself!  " 

Our  young  man  also  found  time,  from  afar,  to  admire 
Damaris;  but,  let  it  be  added,  to  a  very  different  tune. 
Her  beauty  came  as  surprise  to  him  as  having  much  more 
than  fulfilled  its  early  promise.  He  .found  it  impressive 
beyond  that  of  any  one  of  the  many  ladies,  mature  or 
callow,  with  whom  it  was  his  habit  largely  to  flirt.  So  far 
he  could  congratulate  himself  on  having  successfully  with- 
stood the  wiles  of  matrimony — but  by  how  near  a  shave, 
at  times  by  how  narrow  a  squeak!  If  that  fine  parental 
fraud,  the  Archdeacon,  had  but  known !— Tom,  undeterred 


482  DEADHAM  HARD 

by  the  solemnity  of  the  occasion,  hunched  up  his  shoulders 
like  a  naughty  boy  expecting  his  ears  boxed. — But  then — 
thank  the  powers,  the  Archdeacon  so  blessedly  and  refresh- 
ingly didn't,  and,  what  was  more,  didn't  in  the  very  least 
want  to  know.  He  never  asked  for  trouble;  but,  like  the 
priest  and  Levite  of  sacred  parable,  carefully  passed  by  on 
the  other  side  when  trouble  was  about. 

Our  young  friend  looked  again  at  Damaris.  Yes — she 
had  beauty  and  in  the  grand  manner,  standing  there  at 
the  foot  of  the  open  brick-lined  grave,  calm,  immobile, 
black-clad,  white-faced,  in  the  encircling  melancholy  of 
the  drizzling  mist.  With  the  family  grouped  about  her, 
large-boned,  pompous,  well-fed  persons,  impervious  to 
general  ideas  as  they  were  imperviously  prosperous,  he 
compared  her  to  a  strayed  deer  amongst  a  herd  of  store 
cattle.  Really,  with  the  exception  of  his  cousin  Felicia  and 
— naturally — of  himself,  the  Verity  breed  was  almost  in- 
decently true  to  type.  Prize  animals,  most  of  them,  he 
granted,  still  cattle — for  didn't  he  detect  an  underlying 
trace  of  obstinate  bovine  ferocity  in  their  collective  aspect? 

Damaris'  calm  and  immobility  exceeded  theirs.  But  in 
quality  and  source  how  far  removed,  how  sensitive  and 
intelligent!  Her  mourning  was  in  the  grand  manner,  too, 
her  grief  sincere  and  absolute  to  the  extent  of  a  splendid 
self-forgetfulness.  She  didn't  need  to  pose;  for  that  for- 
gotten self  could  be  trusted — in  another  acceptation  of  the 
phrase — never  to  forget  itself. 

And  here  Tom  Verity's  agreeable  frivolity,  the  astute 
and  witty  shiftiness  of  mind  and — in  a  degree — of  practice, 
for  which  he  so  readily  found  excuses  and  forgave  himself, 
made  place  for  nobler  apprehensions.  Not  merely 
Damaris',  just  now,  rather  tragic  beauty  moved  and  im- 
pressed him ;  but  some  quality  inherent  in  her  upon  which 
he  felt  disposed  to  confer  the  title  of  genius.  That  was 
going  far. — Mentally  he  pulled  himself  up  short. — For 
wasn't  it  going  altogether  too  far — absurdly  so?  What 
the  dickens  did  this  excessive  admiration  portend?  Could 
he  have  received  the  coup  de  foudref — He  had  to-day  a 
fancy  for  French  tags,  in  reaction  from  the  family's  over- 


THROUGH  SHADOWS  TOWARDS  DAWN     483 

powering  Englishness  —  That  wouldn't  suit  his  book  in  the 
very  least.  For  in  the  matters  of  the  affections  he  held  it 
thriftless,  to  the  confines  of  sheer  lunacy,  to  put  all  your 
eggs  into  one  basket.  He,  therefore,  politicly  abstained 
from  further  observation  of  Damaris;  and,  with  engaging 
assiduity,  reapplied  himself  to  herding  the  two  native 
gentlemen  through  the  remainder  of  the  ceremony  and,  at 
the  conclusion  of  it,  into  the  mildewed  luxury  of  a  Mary- 
church  landau. 

Deadham  parish  went  home  to  its  tea  that  evening  damp, 
not  to  say  dripping,  but  well  pleased  with  the  figure  it 
had  cut  in  the  public  eye.  For  it  had  contributed  its 
quota  to  contemporary  history ;  and  what  parish  can,  after 
all,  do  more!  Reporters  pervaded  it  armed  with  note- 
books and  pencils.  They  put  questions,  politely  requested 
a  naming  of  names.  The  information  furnished  in  answer 
would  reach  the  unassailable  authority  of  print,  giving 
Deadham  opportunity  to  read  the  complimentary  truth 
about  itself.  Still  better,  giving  others  opportunity  to  read 
the  complimentary  truth  about  Deadham.  Hence  trade  and 
traffic  of  sorts,  with  much  incidental  replenishing  of  purses. 
Great  are  the  uses  of  a  dead  prophet  to  the  keepers  of  his 
tomb !  Not  within  the  memory  of  the  oldest  inhabitant  had 
any  funeral  been  so  largely  or  honourably  attended.  Truly 
it  spelled  excellent  advertisement — and  this  although  two 
persons,  calculated  mightily  to  have  heightened  interest 
and  brought  up  dramatic  and  emotional  values,  were  ab- 
sent from  the  scene. 

For  Lesbia  Faircloth,  giving  her  barman  and  two  women 
servants  a  holiday,  closed  the  inn  at  noon.  Alone  within 
the  empty  house,  she  locked  the  outer  doors.  Drew  the 
blinds,  reducing  the  interior  to  uniform,  shadow-peopled 
obscurity,  with  the  exception  of  her  own  bed-chamber. 
There  she  left  one  small  square  window— set  deep  in  the 
stone  work  of  the  wall— open  and  uncurtained. 

It  faced  the  causeway  and  perspective  of  lane  skirting  t 
warren  and  leading  to  the  high  road  and  village.    Lookii 
out  thence,  in  winter  when  the  trees  were  bare,  she  could 
see  Deadham  church,  crowning  its  monticule,  part  of  the 


484.  DEADHAM  HARD 

sloping  graveyard  and,  below  these  in  the  middle  distance, 
the  roofs  and  gables  of  the  village  street. 

To-day  the  view  was  obliterated.  For  here,  at  the  river 
level,  mist  and  drizzle  took  the  form  of  fog.  Opaque,  chill 
and  dank,  it  drifted  in  continuous,  just  perceptible,  undula- 
tions past  and  in  at  the  open  casement.  Soon  the  air 
of  the  room  grew  thick  and  whitish,  the  dark  oak  furniture 
and  the  floor  boards  furred  with  moisture.  Yet,  her 
methodical  closure  of  the  house  complete,  Lesbia  Faircloth 
elected  to  sit  in  full  inward  sweep  of  it,  drawing  a  straight- 
backed  chair,  mounted  on  roughly  carpentered  rockers, 
close  to  the  window. 

A  handsome  woman  still,  though  in  her  late  fifties,  erect 
and  of  commanding  presence,  her  figure  well-proportioned 
if  somewhat  massive.  Her  dark  hair  showed  no  grey.  Her 
rather  brown  skin  was  clear,  smooth  and  soft  in  texture. 
Her  eyes  clear,  too,  watchful  and  reticent;  on  occasion — 
such  as  the  driving  of  a  business  bargain  say,  or  of  a 
drunken  client — hard  as  flint.  Her  mouth,  a  wholesome 
red,  inclined  to  fullness ;  but  had  been  governed  to  straight- 
ness  of  line — will  dominant,  not  only  in  her  every  move- 
ment, but  in  repose  as  she  now  sat,  the  chair  rockers  at  a 
backward  tilt,  her  capable  and  well-shaped  hands  folded 
on  her  black  apron  in  the  hollow  of  her  lap. 

Putting  aside  all  work  for  once,  and  permitting  herself  a 
space  of  undisturbed  leisure,  she  proceeded  to  cast  up  her 
account  with  love  and  life  in  as  clear-headed,  accurate  a 
fashion  as  she  would  have  cast  up  the  columns  of  cash-book 
or  ledger — and  found  the  balance  on  the  credit  side,  So 
finding  it,  she  turned  her  head  and  looked  across  the  room 
at  the  wide  half-tester  wooden  bed,  set  against  the  inner 
wall — the  white  crochet  counterpane  of  which,  an  affair 
of  intricate  fancy  patterns  and  innumerable  stitches,  loomed 
up  somewhat  ghostly  and  pallid  through  the  gloom.  A 
flicker  of  retrospective  victory  passed  across  her  face,  at- 
testing old  scores  as  paid.  For  there,  through  sleepless 
nights,  nursing  the  ardours  and  disgust  of  her  young 
womanhood,  she  lay  barren  beside  her  apple-cheeked,  pip- 
ing-voiced spouse,  his  wife  in  name  only.  There  later, 


THROUGH  SHADOWS  TOWARDS  DAWN     485 

times  having,  as  by  miracle,  changed  for  her,  she  gave  birth 
to  her  son. 

If  somewhat  pre-christian  in  instinct  and  in  nature,  the 
child  of  a  more  ancient  and  a  simpler  world,  she  was  in  no 
sort  slow  of  intelligence  or  wanton.  What  had  been,  suf- 
ficed her.  She  cried  out  neither  for  further  indulgence 
of  passion,  nor  against  barriers  imposed  by  circumstance 
and  class.  That  which  she  had  done,  she  had  done  open- 
eyed,  counting  and  accepting  the  cost.  Since  then  wooers 
were  not  lacking;  but  she  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  all  and 
each.  A  frank  materialist  in  some  ways,  she  proved  an 
idealist  in  this.  No  subsequent  love  passage  could  rival,  in 
wonder  or  beauty,  that  first  one;  since,  compared  with 
Charles  Verity,  the  men  who  subsequently  aspired  to  her 
favours — whether  in  wedlock  or  out — were,  to  her  taste, 
at  best  dull,  loutish  fellows,  at  worst  no  more  than  human 
jackasses  or  human  swine. 

And,  through  it  all,  she  possessed  the  boy  on  whom  to 
spend  her  heart,  in  whose  interests  to  employ  her  fore- 
sight and  singular  capacity  of  money-making.  For  love's 
sake  therefore,  and  for  his  sake  also,  she  had  lived  without 
reproach,  a  woman  chary  even  of  friendship,  chary,  too, 
of  laughter,  chary  above  all  of  purposeless  gaddings  and  of 
gossip.  Business,  and  the  boy's  sea-going  or  returning, 
might  take  her  as  far  as  Southampton,  Plymouth,  Cardiff, 
more  rarely  London  or  some  northern  port.  But  Deadham 
village  rarely  beheld  her,  and  never,  it  is  to  be  feared,  did 
the  inside  of  Deadham  church. 

Yet  Deadham  church  bell  plaintively,  insistently  tolling, 
the  sound  reaching  her  muted  by  the  thickness  of  the  fog, 
kept  her  attention  on  the  stretch  for  the  ensuing  hour. 
Startling  as  it  was  poignant,  Charles  Verity's  demand 
see  her,  six  days  ago,  brought  the  story  of  her  love  to  full 
circle.    Their  meeting  had  been  of  the  briefest,  for  he  was 
exhausted  by  pain.     But  that  he  had  sent,  and  she  had 
gone,  was  unlooked  for  largesse  on  the  part  of  fortune, 
sufficient  to  give  her  deep-seated  and  abiding  sense  of  1 
ing  and  of  gain.    And  this  stayed  by  her  now,  rather 
any  active  call  for  mourning. 


486  DEADHAM  HARD 

She  inhaled  the  dank  dullness  of  the  fog  gratefully.  It 
suited  the  occasion  better  far  than  sunshine  and  bright 
skies.  For  winter,  darkness,  sullen  flowing  waters  and 
desolate  crying  winds  furnished  the  accompaniment  of  those 
earlier  meetings.  Hearing  the  tolling  bell  she  strove  to  re- 
live them,  and  found  she  did  so  with  singularly  mounting 
wealth  and  precision  of  detail.  Not  only  vision  but  sense 
pushed  backward  and  inward,  revitalizing  what  had  been ; 
until  she  ached  with  suspense  and  yearning,  shrewdly 
evaded  dangers,  surmounted  obstructions  by  action  at  once 
bold  and  wary  and  tasted  the  transfiguring  rapture  of  the 
end  attained. 

In  the  soberness  of  her  middle  years,  occupied  as  she 
was  with  the  rough,  exacting  business  of  the  inn,  and  with 
the  management  of  accumulating  landed  and  other  property 
— anxiety  born  of  her  son's  perilous  calling  never  absent 
from  her  thought — Lesbia  Faircloth  inclined  to  live  ex- 
clusively in  the  present.  Hence  the  colours  of  her  solitary 
passion  had  somewhat  faded,  becoming  clouded  and  dim. 
Recent  events — led  by  the  ugly  publicity  of  Reginald 
Sawyer's  sermon — served  to  revive  those  colours.  To-day 
they  glowed  rich  and  splendid,  a  robing  of  sombre  glory 
to  her  inward  and  backward  searching  sight. 

The  bell  tolled  quicker,  announcing  the  immediate  ap- 
proach of  the  dead.  Lesbia  listened,  her  head  raised,  her 
face,  turned  to  open  window,  felt  over  by  the  clammy,  im- 
palpable fingers  of  the  fog. 

Now  they  bore  the  coffin  up  the  churchyard  path,  as  she 
timed  it.  She  wondered  who  the  bearers  might  be,  and 
whether  they  carried  it  shoulder  high?  The  path  was 
steep;  and  Charles  Verity,  though  spare  and  lean,  broad 
of  chest  and  notably  tall.  Bone  tells.  They  would  feel 
the  weight,  would  breathe  hard,  stagger  a  little  even  and 
sweat. 

And  with  this  visualizing  of  grim  particulars,  love, 
bodily  love  and  desire  of  that  which  rested  stark  and  for 
ever  cold  within  the  narrow  darkness  of  the  coffin — shut 
away  from  all  comfort  of  human  contact  and  the  dear 
joys  of  a  woman's  embrace — rushed  on  her  like  a  storm, 


THROUGH  SHADOWS  TOWARDS  DAWN     487 

buffeted  and  shook  her,  so  that  she  looked  to  right  and  to 
left  as  asking  help,  while  her  hands  worked  one  upon  the 
other  in  the  hollow  of  her  lap. 

Nor  did  Darcy  Faircloth  figure  in  Deadham's  record 
funeral  gathering.  Upon  the  day  preceding  it,  having 
watched  by  Charles  Verity's  corpse  during  the  previous 
night,  he  judged  it  well  to  take  his  new  command — a  fine, 
five-thousand-ton  steamer,  carrying  limited  number  of 
passengers  as  well  as  cargo,  and  trading  from  Tilbury  to 
the  far  East  and  to  Japan,  via  the  Cape. 

In  his  withdrawal,  at  this  particular  date,  Miss  Felicia 
hailed  a  counsel  of  perfection  which  commanded,  and  con- 
tinued to  command,  alike  her  enthusiastic  approval  and 
unfeigned  regret.  For  that  he  should  so  seasonably  efface 
himself,  argued — in  her  opinion — so  delightful  a  nature, 
such  nice  thought  for  others,  such  chivalrous  instincts  and 
excellent  good  taste ! — All  the  more  lamentable,  then,  efface- 
ment  should  be,  from  social,  moral  or  other  seasons,  re- 
quired.— Yet  for  the  family  to  gain  knowledge  of  certain 
facts  without  due  preparation — how  utterly  disastrous! 
Think  of  her  half-sister,  Harriet  Cowden,  for  instance, 
with  a  full-grown  and,  alas !  wrong-way-about,  step-nephew 
bounced  on  her  out  of  a  clear  sky,  and  on  such  an  occasion 
too. — The  bare  notion  of  what  that  formidable  lady,  not 
only  might,  but  quite  certainly  would  look  and  say  turned 
Miss  Felicia  positively  faint. — No — no,  clearly  it  had  to  be 
— it  had  to  be — or  rather — she  became  incoherent — had  not 
to  be,  if  only  for  dearest  Charles's  sake.  Yet  what  a  ten 
thousand  pities;  for  notwithstanding  the  plebeian  origin 
on  the  mother's  side,  didn't  Faircloth— these  reflections 
came  later— really  surpass  every  male  Verity  present, 
young  Tom  included,  though  she  confessed  to  a  very  soft 
spot  in  her  heart  for  young  Tom  f— Surpass  them,  just  as 
her  brother  Charles  had  always  surpassed  them  in  good 
looks  and  charm  as  in  inches,  above  all  in  his  air  of  singular 
good-breeding?  And  how  extraordinarily  he  had  trans- 
mitted this  last  to  Faircloth,  notwithstanding  the— well, 
the  drawback,  the  obstacle  to— Miss  Felicia  did  not  finish 
the  sentence,  though  in  sentiment  becoming  sweetly 


488  DEADHAM  HARD 

abandoned.  For  how  she  would  have  revelled,  other  things 
being  equal — which  they  so  deplorably  weren't — in  shaking 
this  singularly  attractive  nephew  in  the  family's  collective 
face,  just  to  show  them  what  dearest  Charles — who  they 
never  had  quite  understood  or  appreciated — could  do  in 
the  matter  of  sons,  when  he  once  set  about  it,  even  against 
admittedly  heavy  odds! 

As  it  was,  she  had  to  pacify  her  gentle  extravagance  by 
subjecting  the  said  nephew's  hand  to  a  long  tremulous 
pressure  at  parting. — He,  worn,  blanched,  a  little  strange 
from  the  night's  lonely  and  very  searching  vigil;  she 
patchily  pink  as  to  complexion,  fluttered,  her  candid  eyes 
red-lidded. — Pacify  herself  by  assuring  him  she  could 
never  express  how  deeply  she  had  felt  his  unselfish  devo- 
tion during  this  time  of  trouble — felt  his — his  perfect 
attitude  towards  her  dearest  brother — his  father — or  the 
consideration  he  had  shown  towards  Damaris  and  herself. 

"  You  can  count  on  my  unswerving  affection,  my  dear 
Darcy,"  she  had  said.  Adding  with,  to  him,  very  touch- 
ing humility — "  And  any  affection  you  have  to  give  me 
in  return  I  shall  cherish  most  gratefully,  be  very  sure  of 
that." 

All  which,  as  shall  presently  be  shown,  brings  our  narra- 
tive, though  by  devious  courses,  back  to  Damaris  sweeping 
the  dog-cart  to  the  left  across  the  bridge  spanning  the 
Arne,  and  on  up  the  long  winding  ascent,  from  the  woods 
and  rich  meadows  in  the  valley  to  the  wide  prospects  and 
keener  air  of  the  moorland  above. 

Until  now,  as  already  chronicled,  she  had  remained  in 
house  or  garden,  prey  to  an  apathy  which,  while  not 
amounting  to  definite  ill-health,  refused  interest  and  exer- 
tion. She  could  not  shake  it  off.  To  her  all  things  were 
empty,  blank,  immensely  purposeless.  Religion  failed  to 
touch  her  state — religion,  that  is,  in  the  only  form  accessi- 
ble. The  interior  of  some  frowning  Gothic  church  of  old 
Castile,  or,  from  another  angle,  of  some  mellow  Latin 
basilica,  might  have  found  the  required  mystic  word  to 
say  to  her.  But  Protestantism,  even  in  its  mild  Anglican 
form,  shuts  the  door  on  its  dead  children  with  a  heavy 


THROUGH  SHADOWS  TOWARDS  DAWN     489 

hand. — And  she  suffered  this  religious  coldness,  although 
any  idea  that  death  of  the  body  implies  extinction  of  the 
spirit,  extinction  of  personality,  never  occurred  to  her. 
Damans'  sense  of  the  unseen  was  too  ingrained,  her  com- 
merce with  it  too  actual  for  that.  No — the  spirit  lived  on. 
He,  her  most  beloved,  lived  on,  himself,  his  very  self; 
but  far  away  from  her.  In  just  this  consisted  the  empti- 
ness, the  unspeakable  and  blank  bitterness — he  was  some- 
where and  she  could  not  reach  him.  The  dreadful  going 
away  of  his  spirit,  against  which  she  had  fought  during 
the  thirty-six  hours  of  his  illness,  had  reached  its  ordained 
consummation — that  was  all. 

The  body  which  had  contained  and  by  that  beloved  spirit 
been  so  nobly  animated,  in  its  present  awful  peace,  its 
blind  dumb  majesty,  meant  scarcely  more  to  her  than 
some  alabaster  or  waxen  effigy  of  her  dead.  It  was  so  like, 
yet  so  terrifyingly  unlike  Charles  Verity  in  life ! — She  had 
visited  it  morning  and  evening,  since  to  leave  it  in  solitude 
appeared  wanting  in  reverence.  Throughout  each  night  she 
thankfully  knew  that  either  Carteret,  McCabe  or  Faircloth 
watched  by  it.  Yet  to  her  it  hardly  retained  as  much  of 
her  father's  natural  presence  as  the  clothes  he  had  worn, 
the  books  and  papers  littering  his  writing-table,  the  chair 
he  preferred  to  sit  in,  his  guns  and  swords  upon  the  waD, 
or  the  collection  of  fishing-rods,  walking-sticks  and  his 
spud  stacked  in  a  corner. 

After  the  strain  and  publicity  of  the  funeral  her  apathy 
deepened,  perplexing  and  saddening  Carteret  and  bring- 
ing Miss  Felicia  near  to  veritable  wailing.  For  while 
thanking  them  both  she,  in  fact,  put  them  both  aside.  This 
in  no  sour  or  irritable  humour ;  but  with  a  listlessness  and 
apartness  hopeless  to  overcome.  She  prayed  them  to  give 
her  time.  Soon  she  would  begin  again;  but  not  just  yet. 
She  "  couldn't  begin  again  to  order— couldn't  make  herself 
begin  again.  They  must  not  trouble,  only  be  patient  with 
her,  please,  a  little  longer — she  wasn't,  indeed  she  wasn't, 
pretending  " — a  statement  which,  in  its  simplicity,  cut 
Carteret  to  the  quick — for  "  she  meant  to  begin  again 
directly  she  could." 


490  DEADHAM  HARD 

To-day  the  weather  took  an  encouraging  turn  for  the 
better.  Following  the  spell  of  fog  and  wet  a  northerly 
wind  at  last  arose.  It  swept  the  sky  clear  of  clouds,  the 
land  of  melancholy  vapours,  begetting  a  brilliance  of  at- 
mosphere which  wooed  our  maiden  to  come  forth  and  once 
more  affront  the  open.  She  therefore  ordered  the  dog-cart 
at  two  o'clock.  Would  herself  drive ;  and,  "  if  Aunt  Felicia 
didn't  mind  and  think  her  unsociable,  would  take  Patch 
for  sole  company,  because  then  " — renewed  apologies — 
"  she  needn't  talk  and  she  felt  disinclined  to  do  so." 

During  the  first  half  mile  or  so,  as  must  be  confessed, 
each  prick  of  the  black  horse's  ears  and  change  in  his  pace 
sent  a  quake  through  her,  as  did  the  sight  of  every  vehicle 
upon  the  road  she  passed  or  met.  Her  nerve  was  nowhere, 
her  self-confidence  in  tatters.  But,  since  this  parlous  state 
was,  in  the  main,  physical,  air  and  movement,  along  with 
the  direct  call  on  her  attention,  steadied  the  one  and  knit 
up  the  ravelled  edges  of  the  other.  By  the  time  the 
plateau  was  reached  and  the  hill  lay  behind  her,  she  could 
afford  to  walk  the  horse,  tentatively  invite  her  soul,  and 
attempt  to  hold  communion  with  Nature.  Sorrow — as  well 
as  the  Napoleonic  Patch — still  sat  very  squarely  beside  her ; 
but  the  nightmare  of  mortality,  with  consequent  blankness 
and  emptiness,  was  no  longer  omnipresent.  Interest  again 
stirred  in  her,  the  healthy  instinct  of  going  on. 

Except  in  the  foreground,  where  foxy  browns  of  withered 
bracken  and  pink-shot  browns  of  withered  heather  gave 
richness  of  tone,  the  colouring  of  the  great  view  was  some- 
what cold.  It  dealt  in  thin,  uncertain  green,  the  buff  of 
stubble,  in  sharp  slate-like  blues  blended  in  places  with 
indigo,  the  black  purple  of  hawthorn  hedges  and  grey- 
brown  filigree  of  leafless  trees. — This  did  her  good,  she 
asking  to  be  strengthened  and  stimulated  rather  than 
merely  soothed.  To  feel  the  harsh,  untainted  wind  break 
against  her,  hear  it  shrill  through  the  dry,  shivering  grasses 
of  the  roadside  and  sturdy  spires  of  heath,  to  see  it  toss  the 
dark  crests  and  tufted  branches  of  the  outstanding  firs  at 
the  edge  of  the  plantation,  brought  up  her  morale.  Brought 
her  resignation,  moreover — not  of  the  self-indulgent  order, 


THROUGH  SHADOWS  TOWARDS  DAWN     491 

of  bowed  head  and  languidly  folded  hands ;  but  of  the  sort 
which  acknowledges  loss  and  sorrow  as  common  to  the  sum 
of  human  experience,  places  it  in  its  just  relation  to  the 
rest,  and,  though  more  heavily  weighted  than  before, 
takes  up  the  onward  march,  sobered  perhaps  yet  undis- 
mayed. 

Sins  of  omission  began  to  prick  her.  The  domestic  es- 
tablishment ran  on  wheels,  even  during  the  recent  stress 
and  agitation,  though  she  had  ceased  to  exercise  control 
over  it.  Now  it  must  be  reorganized — and  probably  on  a 
less  liberal  footing. — But  these  were  minor  questions,  com- 
paratively simple  to  cope  with.  Her  life  had  been  full,  it 
must  find  fresh  purpose,  fresh  interest  and  occupation,  in 
a  word,  be  refilled. 

Literature  allured  her.  She  dreamed  of  wonderful  tell- 
ings, dreamed  of  the  engrossing  joys  of  the  written  word. 
But  in  what  form — poetry,  essay,  history,  novel? — The 
extreme  limitation  of  her  own  knowledge,  or  rather  the 
immensity  of  her  own  ignorance,  confronted  her.  And 
that  partly  through  her  own  fault,  for  she  had  been  ex- 
clusive, fastidious,  disposed  to  ignore  both  truths  and 
people  who  offended  her  taste  or  failed  to  strike  her  fancy. 
Hitherto  she  had  been  led  by  fancy  and  feeling  rather  than 
by  reasoned  principle.  She  must  at  once  simplify,  broaden 
and  democratize  her  outlook.  Must  force  herself  to  re- 
member that  respect  is,  in  some  sort,  due  to  everything — 
however  unbeautiful,  however  even  vile  or  repugnant — 
which  is  a  constant  quantity  in  human  affairs  and  human 
character,  due  to  everything  in  the  realm  of  Nature 
also,  however  repellent,  if  it  is  really  so,  actually 
exists. 

In  this  connection  the  mysterious  and  haunting  question 
of  sex  obtruded  itself.  And,  along  with  it,  the  thought  of 
two  eminently  diverse  persons,  namely  Lesbia  Faircloth 
and  the  dear,  the  more  than  ever  dear,  man  with  the  blue 
eyes.  That,  in  his  agony,  her  father  should  have  desired 
the  visit  of  the  former,  once  his  mistress,  had  been  very 
bitter  to  bear,  provoking  in  Damaris  a  profound  though 
silent  jealousy.  This  had  even  come  in  some  degree  be- 


492  DEADHAM  HARD 

tween  her  and  Faircloth.  For,  in  proportion  as  that  visit 
more  effectually  united  father  and  son,  it  abolished  her 
position  as  intermediary  between  the  two. 

Recalling  the  incident  jealousy  moved  her  now,  so  that 
she  gathered  up  the  reins  hastily  and  touched  the  horse 
with  the  whip.  It  sprang  forward,  danced  and  behaved, 
before  settling  down  to  the  swinging  trot  which,  in  so  hand- 
some a  fashion,  ate  up  the  blond  road  crossing  the  brown 
expanse  of  moor. 

Damaris  was  surprised  and  distressed  by  the  vehemence 
of  her  own  emotion.  That  her  jealousy  was  retrospective, 
and  belonged  to  a  past  now  over  and  done  with,  she  ad- 
mitted. Yet,  thinking  of  her  father's  demand  to  see  Lesbia, 
how  amazingly  deep  it  went,  how  profound,  and  lasting  is 
the  empire  of  "  feeling  in  that  way  " — so  she  put  it,  falling 
back  on  her  phrase  of  nearly  three  years  ago,  first  coined 
at  St.  Augustin. 

And  this  was  where  Carteret  came  in. — For  he  alone,  of 
all  men,  had  made  her,  Damaris,  ever  consciously  "  feel 
in  that  way. ' ' — A  fact  of  immense  significance  surely,  could 
she  but  grasp  the  full,  the  inner  meaning  of  it — and  one 
which  entered  vitally  into  the  matter  of  "  beginning 
again."  Therefore,  so  she  argued,  the  proposed  simplify- 
ing, broadening,  democratizing  of  her  outlook  must  cover 
— amongst  how  much  else!— the  whole  astonishing  busi- 
ness of  "  feeling  in  that  way." 

She  shrank  from  the  conclusion  as  unwelcome.  The  ques- 
tion of  sex  was  still  distasteful  to  her.  But  she  bade  her- 
self, sternly,  not  to  shrink.  For  without  some  reasoned 
comprehension  of  it — as  now  dawned  on  her — the  ways  of 
human  beings,  of  animals,  of  plants  and,  so  some  say, 
even  of  minerals,  are  unintelligible,  arbitrary,  and  non- 
sensical. It  is  the  push  of  life  itself,  essential,  fundamental, 
which  makes  us  "  feel  in  that  way  " — the  push  of  spirit 
yearning  to  be  clothed  upon  with  flesh,  made  visible  and 
given  its  chance  to  enter  the  earthly  arena,  to  play  an  in- 
dividual part  in  the  beautiful,  terrible  earthly  scene. 
Therefore  she  must  neglect  it,  reject  it  no  longer.  It  had 
to  be  met  and  understood,  if  she  would  graduate  in  the 


THROUGH  SHADOWS  TOWARDS  DAWN     493 

school  of  reality;  and  in  what  other  possible  school  is  it 
worth  while  to  graduate? 

Reaching  which  climax  in  her  argument,  the  selfishness 
of  her  recent  behaviour  became  humiliatingly  patent  to  her. 
From  the  whole  household,  but  especially  from  Carteret 
and  Aunt  Felicia,  she  had  taken  all  and  given  nothing  in 
return.  She  had  added  to  their  grief,  their  anxieties,  by 
her  silence,  her  apathy,  her  whimsies. 

'  Patch,"  she  asked  suddenly,  "  which  is  the  shortest 
way  home,  without  going  through  Stourmouth  and  Mary- 
church?  " — And,  under  his  instructions,  turned  the  dog- 
cart down  a  grassy  side-track,  heading  south-east — her  back 
now  to  the  wind  and  inland  country,  her  face  to  the  larger 
horizon,  the  larger  if  more  hazardous  freedom  of  the  sea. 

Conversation,  started  thus  by  her  enquiry,  flourished  in 
friendly,  desultory  fashion  until,  about  three-quarters  of 
an  hour  later,  the  front  gates  of  The  Hard  came  in  sight. 
By  then  afternoon  merged  itself  in  early  evening.  Lights 
twinkled  in  the  windows  of  the  black  cottages,  upon  the 
Island,  and  in  those  of  Faircloth's  inn.  The  sky  flamed 
orange  and  crimson  behind  the  sand-hills  and  Stone  Horse 
Head.  The  air  carried  the  tang  of  coming  frost.  Upon 
the  hard  gravel  of  the  drive,  the  wheels  of  the  dog-cart 
grated  and  the  horse's  hoofs  rang  loud. 

Another  Damaris  came  home  to  the  Damaris  who  had  set 
forth — a  Damaris  rested,  refreshed,  invigorated,  no  longer 
a  passive  but  an  active  agent.  Nevertheless,  our  poor 
maiden  suffered  some  reaction  on  re-entering  the  house. 
For,  so  entering,  her  loss  again  confronted  her  as  an  actual 
entity.  It  sat  throned  in  the  lamp-lit  hall.  It  demanded 
payment  of  tribute  before  permitting  her  to  pass.  Its  atti- 
tude amounted,  in  her  too  fertile  imagination,  to  a  menace. 
Here,  within  the  walls  which  had  witnessed  not  only  her 
own  major  acquaintance  with  sorrow,  but  so  many  events 
and  episodes  of  strange  and,  sometimes,  cruel  import — 
super-normal  manifestations,  too,  of  which  last  she  feared 
to  think — she  grew  undone  and  weak,  disposed  to  let  tears 
flow,  and  yield  once  more  to  depression  and  apathy.  The 
house  was  stronger  than  she.  But^but— only  stronger, 


494  DEADHAM  HARD 

surely,  if  she  consented  to  turn  craven  and  give  way  to  it  ? 
— Whereupon  she  consciously,  of  set  purpose,  defied  the 
house,  denied  its  right  to  browbeat  thus  and  enslave  her. 
For  had  not  she  this  afternoon,  up  on  the  moorland,  found 
a  finer  manner  of  mourning  than  it  imposed,  a  manner  at 
once  more  noble  and  so  more  consonant  with  the  temper 
and  achievements  of  her  beloved  dead?  She  believed  that 
she  had. 

On  the  hall  table  lay  a  little  flight  of  visiting  cards. 
Her  mind  occupied  in  silent  battle  with  the  house,  Damaris 
glanced  at  them  absently  and  would  have  passed  on.-  But 
something  in  the  half-deciphered  printed  names  caught  her 
attention.  She  bent  lower,  doubting  if  she  could  have  read 
aright. 

"  Brig.-General  and  Mrs.  Frayling." — Two  smaller 
cards,  also  bearing  the  General's  name,  ranged  with  two 
others  bearing  that  of  "  The  Rev.  Marshall  Wace."  A 
written  inscription,  in  the  corner  of  each,  notified  a  leading 
hotel  in  Stourmouth  as  the  habitat  of  their  respective 
owners. 

This  little  discovery  affected  Damaris  to  a  singular  ex- 
tent. She  had  small  enough  wish  for  Henrietta  Frayling 's 
society  at  this  juncture ;  still  less  for  that  of  her  attendant 
singer-reciter-parson.  Yet  their  names,  and  the  train  of 
recollections  evoked  by  these,  made  for  the  normal,  the 
average,  and,  in  so  far,  had  on  her  a  wholesome  effect. 
For  Henrietta,  of  once  adored  and  now  somewhat  tarnished 
memory — soulless,  finished,  and  exquisitely  artificial  to  her 
finger-tips,  beguiling  others  yet  never  herself  beguiled  be- 
yond the  limits  of  a  flawless  respectability — was  wonder- 
fully at  odds  with  high  tragedies  of  dissolution.  How  had 
the  house  received  such  a  guest  ?  How  put  up  with  her  in- 
trusion? But  wasn't  the  house,  perhaps,  itself  at  a  dis- 
advantage, its  sting  drawn  in  presence  of  such  invincible 
materialism  ?  For  how  impress  a  creature  at  once  so  light 
and  so  pachydermatous?  The  position  lent  itself  to  rather 
mordant  comedy. 

In  this  sense,  though  not  precisely  in  these  phrases,  did 
Damaris  apprehend  matters  as,  still  holding  Henrietta 


THROUGH  SHADOWS  TOWARDS  DAWN     495 

Frayling's  visiting  card  in  her  hand,  she  crossed  the  hall 
and  went  into  the  drawing-room. 

There,  from  upon  the  sofa  behind  the  tea-table,  through 
the  warm  soft  radiance  of  shaded  lamps  and  glowing  fire, 
Felicia  Verity  uplifted  her  voice  in  somewhat  agitated 
greeting.  She  made  no  preliminary  affectionate  enquiries 
—-such  as  might  have  been  expected— regarding  her  niece's 
outing  or  general  wellbeing,  but  darted,  not  to  say  ex- 
ploded, into  the  declaration: 

•'  Darling,  I  am  so  exceedingly  glad  you  weren't  at  home ! 
— Mrs.  Frayling's  card?  " 

This,  as  the  girl  sat  down  on  the  sofa  beside  her. 
'  Then  you  know  who's  been  here.  I  didn't  intend  to 
see  anyone — unless  poor  little  Theresa — But  no,  truly  no 
one.  Both  Hordle  and  Mary  were  off  duty — I  ought  not 
to  have  let  them  be  away  at  the  same  time,  perhaps,  but  I 
did  feel  they  both  needed  a  holiday,  don't  you  know. — 
And  either  they  had  forgotten  to  give  Laura  my  orders,  or 
she  lost  her  head,  or  was  talked  over.  I  daresay  Mrs.  Fray- 
ling  insisted." 

"  Henrietta  is  not  easily  turned  from  her  purpose," 
Damaris  said. 

"  Exactly. — A  very  few  minutes'  conversation  with  her 
convinced  me  of  that.  And  so  I  felt  it  would  be  unfair  to 
blame  Laura  too  severely.  I  should  suppose  Mrs.  Frayling 
excessively  clever  in  getting  her  own  way.  Poor  Laura — 
even  if  she  did  know  my  orders,  she  hadn't  a  chance." 

"  Not  a  chance,"  Damaris  repeated. 

Once  convalescence  initiated,  youth  speedily  regains  its 
elasticity ;  and  Aunt  Felicia  with  her  feathers  ruffled,  Aunt 
Felicia  upon  the  warpath  thus,  presented  a  novel  spectacle 
meriting  observation.  Evidently  she  and  Henrietta  had 
badly  clashed! — A  nice  little  demon  of  diversion  stirred 
within  Damaris.  For  the  first  time  for  many  days  she  felt 
amused. 

"  Excessively  clever,"  Miss  Felicia  continued. 

— Without  doubt  the  dear  thing  was  finely  worked  up  !— 

"  And,  though  I  hardly  like  to  make  such  accusation, 
none  too  scrupulous  in  her  methods.  She  leads  you  on 


496  DEADHAM  HARD 

with  a  number  of  irrelevant  comments  and  questions,  until 
you  find  she's  extracted  from  you  a  whole  host  of  things 
you  never  meant  to  say.  She  is  far  too  inquisitive — too 
possessive." 

Miss  Felicia  ended  on  an  almost  violent  note. 

"  Yes,  Henrietta  has  a  tiresome  little  habit  of  having 
been  there  first, ' '  Damaris  said,  a  touch  of  weariness  in  her 
tone  remembering'  past  encounters. 

Miss  Felicia,  caught  by  that  warning  tone,  patted  her 
niece 's  rather  undiscoverable  knee — undiscoverable  because 
still  covered  by  a  heavy  fur-lined  driving  coat — lovingly, 
excitedly. 

"  If  you  choose  to  believe  her,  darling,"  she  cried, 
"  which  I,  for  one,  emphatically  don't." 

Following  which  ardent  profession  of  faith,  or  rather  of 
scepticism,  Miss  Felicia  attempted  to  treat  the  subject 
broadly.  She  soared  to  mountain-tops  of  social  and  psycho- 
logical astuteness ;  but  only  to  make  hasty  return  upon  her 
gentler  self,  deny  her  strictures,  and  snatch  at  the  skirts 
of  vanishing  Christian  charity. 

' '  Men  aren  't  so  easily  led  away, ' '  she  hopefully  declared. 
"  Nor  can  I  think  Mrs.  Frayling  so  irresistible  to  each  and 
all  as  she  wishes  one  to  imagine.  She  must  magnify  the 
number  and,  still  more,  the  permanence  of  her  conquests. 
No  doubt  she  has  been  very  much  admired.  I  know  she  was 
lovely.  I  saw  her  once  ages  ago,  at  Tullingworth.  Dearest 
Charles,"  the  words  came  softly,  as  though  her  lips  hesi- 
tated to  pronounce  them  in  so  trivial  a  connection — "  asked 
me  to  call  on  her  as  I  was  staying  in  the  neighbourhood. 
She  had  a  different  surname  then,  by  the  way,  I  remember. ' ' 

"  Henrietta  has  had  four  in  all — counting  in  her  maiden 
name,  I  mean." 

"  Exactly,"  Miss  Felicia  argued,  "  and  that,  no  doubt, 
does  prejudice  me  a  little  against  her.  I  suppose  it  is 
wrong,  but  when  a  woman  marries  so  often  one  can't  help 
feeling  as  if  she  ended  by  not  being  married  at  all — a  mere 
change  of  partners,  don 't  you  know,  which  does  seem  rather 
shocking.  It  suggests  such  an  absence  of  deep  feeling. — 
Poor  thing,  I  dare  say  that  is  just  her  nature;  still  it 


THROUGH  SHADOWS  TOWARDS  DAWN     497 

doesn't'  attract  me.  In  fact  it  gives  me  a  creep.— But  I 
quite  own  she  is  pretty  still,  and  extraordinarily  well 
dressed— only  too  well  dressed,  don't  you  know,  that 
is  for  the  country.— More  tea,  darling.  Yes,  Mrs.  Cooper's 
scones  are  particularly  good  this  afternoon.— I  wish  I  liked 
her  better,  Mrs.  Frayling,  I  mean,  because  she  evidently 
intends  to  be  here  a  lot  in  future.  She  expressed  the 
warmest  affection  for  you.  She  was  very  possessive  about 
you,  more  I  felt  than  she'd  any  real  right  to  be.  That,  I 'm 
afraid,  put  my  back  up — that  and  one  or  two  other  things. 
She  and  General  Frayling  think  of  settling  in  Stourmouth 
for  good,  if  Mr.  Wace  is  appointed  to  the  Deadham  curacy." 

"  The  curacy  here?  "  Damans  echoed,  a  rather  lurid 
\light  breaking  in  on  her. 

Miss  Felicia's  glance  was  of  timid,  slightly  distressed, 
enquiry. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  Mr.  Wace  has  applied  for  the  curacy. 
He  and  General  Frayling  were  to  have  an  interview  with 
\Canon  Horniblow  this  afternoon.  They  dropped  Mrs. 
Frayling  here  on  their  way  to  the  vicarage,  and  sent  the 
(fly  back  for  her.  She  talked  a  great  deal  about  Mr.  Wace 
and  his  immense  wish  to  come  here.  She  gave  me  to  under- 
stand it  was  his  one  object  to  " 

The  speaker  broke  off,  raised  her  thin,  long-fingered  hands 
to  her  forehead. 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  said,  "  but  really  I  feel  perhaps, 
darling,  it  is  better  to  warn  you.  She  implied — oh!  she 
did  it  very  cleverly,  really,  in  a  way  charmingly — but  she 
implied  that  things  had  gone  very  hard  with  Mr.  Wace 
that  winter  at  St.  Augustin,  and  that  all  he  went  through 
has  remarkably  developed  and  strengthened  his  character 
— that  it,  in  fact,  was  what  determined  him  to  take  Holy 
Orders.  His  difficulties  melted  before  his  real  need  for 
the  support  of  religion.  It  would  have  all  been  most  touch- 
ing if  one  had  heard  a  story  of  such  devotion  from  anyone 
but — but  her,  about  anyone  but  him — under  the  circum- 
stances, poor  young  man — because — darling — well,  because 
of  you." 

"  Of  me?  "  Damaris  stiffened. 


498  DEADHAM  HARD 

"  Yes — that  is  just  the  point.  Mrs.  Frayling  left  me  in 
no  doubt.  She  was  determined  to  make  me  understand 
just  what  Mr.  Wace's  attitude  had  been  towards  you — 
and  that  it  is  still  unchanged. ' ' 

Damaris  got  up.  Pulled  off  her  driving  coat,  gloves  and 
hat.  Threw  them  upon  the  seat  of  a  chair.  The  act  was 
symbolic.  She  felt  suffocated,  impelled  to  rid  herself  of 
every  impediment.  For  wasn't  she  confronted  with  an- 
other battle — a  worse  one  than  that  with  the  house,  namely, 
a  battle  with  her  long-ago  baby-love,  and  her  father's  love 
too — Henrietta. — Henrietta,  so  strangely  powerful,  so 
amazingly  persistent — Henrietta  who  enclosed  you  in  arms, 
apparently  so  soft  but  furnished  with  suckers,  octopus 
arms  adhering,  never  letting  you  go  ?  She  had  played  with 
the  idea  of  this  intrusion  of  Henrietta's  and  its  effect  upon 
Miss  Felicia,  at  first  as  something  amusing.  It  ceased  to  be 
amusing.  It  frightened  her. 

' '  And  my  attitude  is  unchanged,  too, ' '  she  said  presently, 
gravely  proud.  "  I  didn't  want  to  marry  Marshall  Wace 
then.  I  was  dreadfully  sorry  when  Henrietta  told  me  he 
cared  for  me.  I  don't  want  to  marry  him  or  have  him  care 
for  me  one  bit  more  now.  I  think  it  very  interfering  of 
Henrietta  to  trouble  you  with  this.  It  is  not  the  moment. 
She  might  at  least  have  waited." 

"  So  I  felt,"  Miss  Felicia  put  in.  She  watched  her  niece 
anxiously,  as  the  latter  went  across  to  the  fire-place  and 
stood,  her  back  to  the  room,  looking  down  into  the  glowing 
logs. 

For  she  had — or  rather  ought  she  not  to  have  ? — another 
communication  to  make  which  involved  the  fighting  of  a 
battle  on  her  own  account,  not  against  Henrietta  Frayling, 
still  less  against  Damaris,  but  against  herself.  It  trembled 
on  the  tip  of  her  tongue.  She  felt  impelled,  yet  sorrowed 
to  utter  it.  Hence  her  wishes  and  purposes  jostled  one 
another,  being  tenderly,  bravely,  heroically  even,  contra- 
dictory. In  speaking  she  invited  the  shattering  of  a  dream 
of  personal  election  to  happiness — a  late  blossoming  hap- 
piness and  hence  the  more  entrancing,  the  more  pathetic. 
That  any  hope  of  the  dream's  fulfilment  was  fragile  as 


glass,  lighter  than  gossamer,  the  veriest  shadow  of  a  shade, 
her  natural  diffidence  and  sane  sense,  alike,  convinced  her! 
For  this  very  cause,  the  dream  being  of  the  sweetest  and 
most  intimate,  how  gladly  would  she  have  cherished  the 
enchanting  foolishness  of  it  a  trifle  longer!— Her  act  of 
heroism  would  earn  no  applause,  moreover,  would  pass 
practically  unnoticed.  No  one  would  be  aware  of  her 
sacrifice.  She  would  only  gain  the  satisfaction  of  knowing 
she  had  done  the  perfectly  right  and  generous  thing  by 
two  persons  who  would  never  share  that  knowledge.— She 
blushed. — Heaven  forbid  they  ever  should  share  it — and 
thank  her. 

"  Mrs.  Frayling— I  don't  want  "— 

Miss  Felicia  stopped. 

"  What  don't  you  want?  " — This  from  Damaris  over 
her  shoulder,  the  pause  being  prolonged. 

"  To  set  you  against  her,  darling  " 

"  I  think,"  Damaris  said,  "  I  know  all  about  Hen- 
rietta." 

"  She  insinuates  so  much,"  Miss  Felicia  lamented.— 
"  Or  seems  to  do  so.  One  grows  wretchedly  suspicious  of 
her  meaning.  Perhaps  I  exaggerate  and  misjudge  her. — 
She  is  quite  confusingly  adroit;  but  I  extremely  disliked 
the  way  in  which  she  spoke  of  Colonel  Carteret." 

Damaris  bent  a  little  forward,  holding  her  skirt  back 
from  the  scorch  of  the  fire,  her  eyes  still  downcast. 

"  How  did  she  speak  of  him?  " 

"  Oh!  all  she  said  was  very  indirect — but  as  though  he 
had  not  played  quite  fair  with  her  on  some  occasion.  And 
— it's  odious  to  repeat! — as  if  that  was  his  habit  with 
women,  and  with  unmarried  girls  as  well — as  if  he  was 
liable  to  behave  in  a  way  which  placed  them  in  a  rather 
invidious  position  while  he  just  shuffled  out  of  all  responsi- 
bility himself.  She  hinted  his  staying  on  with  us  here  was 
a  case  in  point — that  it  might  give  people  a  wrong  idea 
altogether.  That,  in  short— at  least  thinking  it  over  I  feel 
sure  this  is  the  impression  she  meant  to  convey  to  me — that 
he  is  indulging  his  chronic  love  of  philandering  at  your 
expense. ' ' 


500  DEADHAM  HARD 

"  And  thereby  standing  in  the  light  of  serious  lovers 
such  as  Marshall  Wace?  " 

After  a  moment  Damaris  added : 

"  Is  that  your  idea  of  Colonel  Carteret,  Aunt  Felicia?  " 

' '  Ah !  no,  indeed  no, ' '  the  poor  lady  cried,  with  rather 
anguished  sincerity.  Then  making  a  fine  effort  over  her- 
self: 

' '  Least  of  all  where  you  are  concerned,  my  darling. ' ' 

And  she  drifted  hastily  on  to  her  feet.  The  curtains 
were  still  undrawn ;  and,  through  the  window  opposite,  she 
caught  sight  of  a  tall  figure  coming  up  across  the  lawn  in 
the  frosty  twilight. 

"  Pardon  me  if  I  run  away.  I've  forgotten  a  note  I 
meant  to  send  to  poor  little  Theresa  Bilson. — I  must  let 
Laura  have  it  at  once,  or  she  mayn't  catch  the  postman," 
she  said  with  equal  rapidity  and  apparent  inconsequence. 

As  Felicia  Verity  passed  out  into  the  hall,  at  one  end  of 
the  avenue  of  stumpy  pillars,  Carteret  came  in  at  the 
other  end  through  the  garden  door.  He  halted  a  moment, 
dazzled  by  the  warmth  and  light  within  after  the  clair- 
obscure  of  the  frosty  dusk  without,  and  looked  round  the 
room  before  recognizing  the  identity  of  its  remaining  occu- 
pant. Then : 

"  Ah!  you — dear  witch,"  he  said.  "  So  you're  home. 
And  what  of  your  drive  ?  ' ' 

Damaris  turned  round,  all  of  a  piece.  Her  hands,  white 
against  the  black,  the  fingers  slightly  apart,  still  pressed 
back  the  skirt  of  her  dress  as  though  saving  it  from  the 
fire  scorch,  in  quaintly  careful  childish  fashion.  Her  com- 
plexion was  that  of  a  child  too,  in  its  soft  brightness.  And 
the  wonder  of  her  great  eyes  fairly  challenged  Carteret  '& 
wits. 

"  A  babe  of  a  thousand  years,"  he  quoted  to  himself. 
'* '  Does  that  look  grow  out  of  a  root  of  divine  innocence,  or 
of  quite  incalculable  wisdom?  " 

"  I  told  you  if  you  would  be  patient  with  me  I  should 
begin  again.  I  have  begun  again,  dear  Colonel  Sahib." 

"  So  I  perceive,"  he  answered  her. 

"  Is  it  written  so  large?  "  she  asked  curiously. 


THROUGH  SHADOWS  TOWARDS  DAWN     501 

"  Very  large,"  he  said,  falling  in  with  her  humour. 
*'  And  where  does  the  beginning  lead  to?  " 

"  I  wish  you'd  tell  me. — Henrietta  has  begun  again  too." 

"  I  know  it,"  he  said.  "  Our  incomparable  Henrietta 
overtook  me  on  her  way  from  here  to  the  Vicarage,  and 
bestowed  her  society  on  me  for  the  better  part  of  half  an 
hour.  She  was  in  astonishing  form." 
(  Carteret  came  forward  and  stood  on  the  tiger  skin  beside 
Damaris.  Mrs.  Frayling's  conversation  had  given  him  very 
furiously  to  think,  and  his  thoughts  had  not  proved  by  any 
means  exhilarating. 

"  Does  this  recrudescence  of  our  Henrietta,  her  begin- 
ning again,  affect  the  scope  and  direction  of  your  own 
beginning  again,  dearest  witch?  "  he  presently  enquired, 
in  singularly  restrained  and  colourless  accents. 

"  That  depends  a  good  deal  upon  you — doesn't  it,  Colonel 
Sahib?  "  our  maiden  gravely  answered. 

Carteret  felt  as  though  she  dealt  him  a  blow.  The  pain 
was  numbing.  He  could  neither  see,  nor  could  he  think 
clearly.  But  he  traced  Mrs.  Frayling's  hand  in  this,  and 
could  have  cursed  her  elaborately — had  it  been  worth  while. 
But  was  anything  worth  while,  just  now?  He  inclined  to 
believe  not — so  called  himself  a  doating  fool.  And  then, 
though  tormented,  shaken,  turned  his  mind  to  making 
things  easy  for  Damaris. 

"Oh!  I  see  that,"  he  told  her.  "  And  now  you  have 
got  hold  of  your  precious  little  self  again  and  made  a  start, 
it's  easy  enough  to  manage  your  affairs — in  as  far  as  they 
need  any  management  of  mine — from  a  distance.  This 
beginning  again  is  triumphant.  I  congratulate  you! 
You're  your  own  best  physician.  You  know  how  to  treat 
your  case  to  a  marvel.  So  I  abdicate." 

"  But  why?  Why  abdicate?  Do  you  mean  go  away? 
Then  Henrietta  was  right.  What  she  said  was  true.  I 
never  believed  her.  I  " 

Damaris  grew  tall  in  her  shame  and  anger.  The  solemn 
eyes  blazed. 

"  Yes— pray  go,"  she  said.  "  It's  unwarrantable  the 
way  I  kept  you  here — the  way  I've  made  use  of  you.  But, 


502  DEADHAM  HARD 

indeed,  indeed,  I  am  very  grateful,  Colonel  Sahib.  I  ought 
to  have  known  better.  But  I  didn't.  I  have  been  so  ac- 
customed all  my  life  to  your  help  that  I  took  it  all  for 
granted.  I  never  thought  how  much  I  taxed  your  for- 
bearance or  encroached  on  your  time. — That  isn't  quite 
true  though.  I  did  have  scruples;  but  little  things  you 
said  and  did  put  my  scruples  to  sleep.  I  liked  having  them 
put  to  sleep. — Now  you  must  not  let  me  or  my  business 
interfere  any  more. — Oh !  you've  treated  me,  given  to  me, 
like  a  prince,"  she  declared,  rising  superior  to  anger  and 
to  shame,  her  eyes  shining — "  like  a  king.  Nobody  can 
ever  take  your  place  or  be  to  me  what  you've  been.  I 
shall  always  love  to  think  of  your  goodness  to — to  him — my 
father — and  to  me — always — all  my  life." 

Damaris  held  out  her  hands. 

"  And  that's  all. — Now  let  us  say  no  more  about  this. 
It's  difficult.  It  hurts  us  both,  I  fancy,  a  little." 

But  Carteret  did  not  take  her  proffered  hands. 

"  Dear  witch,"  he  said,  "  we've  spoken  so  freely  that  I 
am  afraid  we  must  speak  more  freely  still — even  though  it 
pains  you  a  little  perhaps,  and  myself,  almost  certainly  very 
much  more.  I  love  you — not  as  a  friend,  not  as  an  amiable 
elderly  person  should  love  a  girl  of  your  age. — This  isn't 
an  affair  of  yesterday  or  the  day  before  yesterday.  You 
crept  into  my  heart  on  your  sixth  birthday — wasn't  it? 
' — when  I  brought  you  a  certain  little  green  jade  elephant 
from  our  incomparable  Henrietta,  and  found  you  asleep 
in  a  black  marble  chair,  set  on  a  blood-red  sandstone  plat- 
form, overlooking  the  gardens  of  the  club  at  Bhutpur. 
And  you  have  never  crept  out  of  it  again — won't  do  so  as 
long  as  body  and  mind  hang  together,  or  after.  It  has  been 
a  song  of  degrees. — For  years  you  were  to  me  a  delicious 
plaything;  but  a  plaything  with  a  mysterious  soul,  after 
which  I  felt,  every  now  and  again,  in  worship  and  awe. 
The  plaything  stage  came  to  an  end  when  I  was  here  with 
you  before  we  went  to  Paris,  four  years  ago.  For  I  found 
then,  beyond  all  question  of  doubt,  that  I  loved  you  as  a 
man  only  loves  once,  and  as  most  men  never  love  at  all. 


,  THROUGH  SHADOWS  TOWARDS  DAWN     503 

I  have  tried  to  keep  this  from  you  because  I  have  no  right 
to  burden  your  youth  with  my  middle-age." 

Carteret  smiled  at  her. 

' '  It  has  not  been  altogether  easy  to  hold  my  peace,  dear- 
est witch, ' '  he  said.  ' '  The  seven  devils  of  desire — of  which 
you  knew  nothing,  bless  you  " 

"I'm  not  sure  that  I  do  know  nothing,"  Damaris  put 
in  quietly.  She  looked  him  over  from  head  to  heel,  and  the 
wonder  of  her  great  eyes  deepened. 

"  It  isn't  wrong?  "  she  said,  brokenly,  hoarsely.  "  I 
don't  think  it  can  be  wrong?  " 

Then,  "  You  will  be  good  to  my  brother,  to  Darcy  Fair- 
cloth,  and  let  me  see  him  quite,  quite  often !  ' ' 

And  lastly,  her  lips  trembling: 

"  It  is  beautiful,  more  beautiful  than  I  ever  knew  afcout, 
to  have  you  for  quite  my  own,  Colonel  Sahib." 


THE  END. 


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